


BTVS & TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer

by bearblue



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angels, F/F, Incomplete (18 chapters out of 18 so far), Magic Users, Multi, Other Worlds, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 78,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15055397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearblue/pseuds/bearblue
Summary: Andrea Sachs doesn’t know her real past, but it catches up with her in a big way when she takes up residence in Sunnydale.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TDWP & BTVS: On a Wing and a Prayer  
> Fandom: TDWP / BTVS  
> Pairing: (Poly/Multiple) Miranda/Andy/Buffy/Tara/Willow/Cordelia  
> Rating: NSFW/Mature/NC17  
> Summary: Andrea Sachs doesn’t know her real past, but it catches up with her in a big way when she takes up residence in Sunnydale.
> 
> Words: Beta. No word count yet, as this story is not yet complete. It constitutes a beta version until such time as the work is done and may be subject to change.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which pretty well guarantees that “ownership,” of the characters belongs to others (Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox and Warner Bros? and J. Whedon) and that this work is entirely based on affection. This work is an interpretation and not for-profit, (though it may be for praise and enjoyment) Reference to persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
> 
> Beta Readers: Thank yous go to - Melanacious, LadyDragonstorm, Shesgottaread, Bonnie, Blackgrl71, and many others - my extraordinary friends.
> 
> Email: bearblue1@yahoo.com  
> Website: http://www.bearblue.com/library/index.htm
> 
> A/N - This is a “get ‘em together” story, as most of my stories start out that way. We’ll see if it goes other places too.  
> A/N - This fiction likely draws from several sources for inspiration - it mostly follows TDWP movie canon and BTVS TV canon as a starting point, however.  
> A/N - I hereby label this story AU. Just in case. Because this definitely involves magic. And while I personally believe that magic exists, there are those among us who need this disclaimer. So for purposes of respect to the cooperative multi-verse in which we live: *stamp* AU *endstamp*  
> A/N - This story involves appendages and physical transformations and happy bits connecting. If phallai offend, perhaps this story is not for you. *stamp* CRACKFIC *endstamp*  
> A/N - This story has some hints of “bad things that happened to good people.” *stamp* TRIGGER Warning *endstamp* That said, this story is also protected by the she-will-never-go-there-clause. Caroline and Cassidy might get threatened by bad things, but are SAFE. *stamp* Author Safety Zone *endstamp*  
> A/N - Plural/Poly relationships happen to be one of my favorite playgrounds. This fiction enters that territory and really gets digging in it. *stamp* POLYAMORY *endstamp*  
> A/N - This story uses a buffy-world setting, which means that some events are darker and more dangerous and possibly unfriendly. *stamp* MAYHEM! *endstamp*  
> A/N - I have decided, just for my sanity, that family and really good friend names shall remain generally consistent. Thus, Andy’s father is Richard and her mother is CeCe, etc. This will go for Miranda’s family if they ever reveal themselves.   
> A/N - This story has big dollops of angst, but it ends well.
> 
> Inspiration Placeholder: Angel - Massive Attack: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jK4dv34GMVw

On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 1

 

If human beings really knew who and what Miranda really is or was, they would all quake in fear and awe. 

Oh, they think they do now, because she is the fashion queen and when she walks past they all scatter, but when one discusses real fear in relation to her, it is the old-fashioned kind; the mythic-biblical-old one, she walks in grace and mightiness, and her name is Goddess, kind. When one speaks of fear, they mean awe and terror before magnificence and her Wisdom.

Then again, her mortal minions do find their resolves shaken as she passes and the average person will step away, half bowing in instinct, without ever quite understanding why. 

They might be able to imagine her nature, but cannot begin to conceive of her true power.

And talk about the misdirections, of which she is a master, the newspapers rave on about the dragon, the demon, the ice queen.

Again, wrong, wrong, wrong.

So very. It would be more true to put her very much on the higher planes. She can summon beings from dozens of planes, heavenly and otherwise. She wins every war she has fought, but it has been a long, long time since she’s had to fight or even have someone else do it for her; except for Runway. Her reputation precedes her. 

As a divinity, some like to think she is formless, but she has always had this form; womanly features and shape, full red lips, aquiline nose, azure eyes, white hair. Even when she dyes it or hides it by magic, her hair inevitably turns white again. She has given up trying to hide it and now considers it a feature; one might even call it her trademark.

She has had many names, some which still turn up now and then. They could not erase her from the Books, though the patriarchy tried, but there was a time that to gaze upon her face was to burn and many a man has burned in her presence. Even Solomon could not bear her for long. Wisdom has a very long reach and when scorned, she cuts. When they ignore her, she leaves. She is not one to be taken for granted. She is a Power and, despite what people say, she has feelings.

They can be very strong. She can and does get offended. She also loves, very deeply.

When she is in a particular kind of mood, sometimes her caustic words are reminiscent of times past, but even then, she curbs her tongue. She has learned and has always had a form of compassion, if not always mercy; she has also learned that they are not always the same thing. She could end a person with one phrase, or even end the world. Years ago, when she first started working at Runway, a very important person went mysteriously missing and she’d had to explain a pile of ash to maintenance. Very few, mortal or immortal, can even begin to evoke that kind of feeling in her anymore. 

It’s probably a very good thing; especially since Irv often comes close.

Two exist that lay absolute claim to her heart. They were surprises and are the only children of her body. She has enjoyed pleasures of the flesh with abundance over centuries and centuries, but had never before had children. Then, one day, twins.

She knows the man she calls their father is not their progenitor. She has no idea how conception was even possible, but she recalls the day and the moment it happened quite clearly. 

She and her spouse of the time, Jeremy, an immortal, though not a divinity, decided to take a vacation. They headed for planes south, though dimensionally that really isn’t a true direction, looking for entertainment and relaxation. They had a longtime friend who ran a Gladiatorial Arena. The Mistress of the Arena, Nan, had invited them on multiple occasions to visit her home, and they decided to take her up on her offer. They toured the arena and browsed the stable of fighters. They ate, made merry, watched the bouts. 

Later, Miranda retired early, as she always did, expecting Jeremy to arrive soon. 

Someone entered the room, bearing his likeness, his visage. It was one of the gladiators, ensorcelled to appear as her spouse, she knew it had to be. She realized it was a favor of the Mistress. Jeremy had never been the most faithful of spouses, and it seemed like tonight would be one of those nights. 

But Miranda was not to be alone. Sometimes it is good to have friends who understood.

She noted that Nan had spared nothing. The body presented to her was Jeremy at his prime, possibly even better and definitely bigger. Only two flaws in the magic truly gave away the game. First, the gladiator was unable to speak. Second, Jeremy’s eyes were green. The eyes that looked at her that night were a deep amber-brown, the kind one falls into, and they filled with an unfathomable longing when they fell upon her. Jeremy, as much as she knew he loved her, had never looked at her in such a way, even in the beginning.

No words were necessary. The hands, mouth and body were delightfully, even memorably, skillful, but this Jeremy did not search for known places. They explored each other, taking their time about it. The kisses had been succulent, unnerving in their richness. She thought she’d smelled cinnamon and it flavored the moment, sweetly redolent. When she was finally taken, she was very ready, very excited and needful. The ecstatic arrival had been shattering, she thought for both of them, but unlike her spouse, this one gathered her into their arms and held her protectively into sleep.

She awakened to an empty bed and felt the loss much more deeply than she could have expected. But she did not regret the moment, could not. 

She had never discovered who and, at the time, it had not seemed necessary. She understood she had been given a gift. Her girls are her treasure. 

Stephen has been an acceptable father figure, but he is growing tired of “her shit.” They all do. She fights for the relationship like she always does, hopes for the best, but in this case is expecting the worst. She will try to buffer her girls when it is time, but she will stall it as long as she can. Then she will hope for something without acrimony, but part of the reason she married Stephen was his passion, which does not always lead to friendliness later.

When it is time, she will do what she must. She always does.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

 

If people knew what and who Andy Sachs really was, well, they’d probably struggle to even picture it. Then again, she struggles with who and what she was and is too. It’s a fair enough reaction. She looks both everything like she used to and nothing like had been. 

She’s been away from this kind of world a long time, actually away from many familiar dimensions. No wonder they think she has no style, no sense of it. It’s true. She can’t find it anywhere, though she thinks she used to have some. At one point in time. Maybe. 

Long, long ago, the truth of the time she doesn’t remember, she had been called to be a war angel for the purposes of the Host, even though she hardly knew how to hold an axe or sword or even a staff. She was thrust into battle with only a word of prayer. She was not the only one. She had been a harp player before that. By the time she was in the middle of battle, ignorant and flailing, she wished her general had never been created and that she had never been summoned from the Fields of Gold. Later, after they lost and the god of her originating Host was defeated, she watched as her first and last general was roasted, torn, and eaten by a Host of Balrog.

One might call her fortunate. She is much further down on the menu, a minor player in a major game; a tiny inconspicuous figure of the Heavenly Host, hardly worth noticing, except that the enemy truly hated what she is. They broke her wings, then, to add insult to injury, cut them off her back. She remembers that part, the lead-up “party,” where she learned that even those such as she were not inviolable, at all, and she screamed and screamed. They marked her body, covering her true marks, hiding her swords from sight and mind so she would forget her power. She does. That is the way of it.

Even a slave learns things. She lives through her first master who, beyond the occasional lashing when bored, had no use for his slaves other than as war prizes. Its keepers were much worse than the master. Her second master is not kind, but busy and not interested in her except to make her skilled for his purposes. She is trained to make things, to build and break things. She is passed from master to master in this field. She becomes an expert, sought after. She can make weapons and armor and sundry goods out of anything with substance. She makes and makes and makes. Who knows how many she has armed and defended with her works. She forgets what a harp looks like. Then one day someone notices another quality in her.

Her fifth master, a female, loves battle and magical lore. She talks endlessly and expertly on both subjects and leaves the slave alone in libraries when she’s not on the training field or the stadium arena. She teaches her things, how to hold a weapon correctly, what to strike for and to. She is trained as a gladiator. To make use of her surroundings and to use any random object as an effective weapon. To make every blow count. To incapacitate or kill quickly to win. This is what she should have been taught, she thinks, when she contemplates back to the great battle, this is what they never told her. 

Her mistress is a well-known, popular figure, visited by immortals of every stripe, but really a friend or even friendly to only a few. One day, one of the few arrives, a white-haired goddess and her spouse. Andy is lined up with the others, expects nothing other than the usual; the quick glance of disdain for the slave or appreciation for the body of the slave. This one stops and looks at each of them, peering deeply into their eyes, weighing and measuring something inexplicable. She stops in front of Andy and the broken angel is lost in a blue gaze, drawn into the deep. She doesn’t remember when the goddess steps away, but only becomes aware when they are marched away. 

When the mistress comes looking for a volunteer to spend time with the goddess, Andy stands. 

It is notable, because Andy never volunteers for duties of pleasure. She only ever fights. The mistress, wondering, accepts and then does her work upon one of the finest, if not the finest, gladiatrix she’s ever owned. 

The magic takes away Andy’s memory of the night, of even the asking and the volunteering, but she never recovers from the eyes. She remembers them in her sleep, when she does sleep, and dreams that she knows what the woman smells like and feels like under her touch. Then one day the dreams stop and somehow, she knows, the goddess is out of reach; likely forever. 

Time passes and Andy achieves glory as a gladiatrix. She grows ever closer to winning her way free. She has deep respect for her mistress, who is honorable and clever. The not-a-war-angel almost loves her at the end, until a bet lost to a cheat tears her away and leaves her the chattel to another monster. 

This master needs fodder. Again she is put into battle and this time the training is just as real, but completely different. She learns something very important, something life altering.

Angels believe they will win and assume it. They preach it to themselves and boast. It is their arrogance which causes them to lose, because Demons and Humans and most other creatures want and will fight to win. They battle all the time, they practice and fight for territory and substance and survival. They put their all into it. 

She is given a sword and shield of her own, made of bone and obsidian. Instinct causes her to bless the weapon and the armor despite their origins. They blaze in her hands. She learns to carve paths through the enemy, which is whomever they point her at. She pours everything she has learned into the fight and frightens and awes even her master. He vows to keep her for the beauty of it, but then he himself is lost in the next great onslaught. The victor of this battle has no use or interest for slaves, even as war prizes, and after the battle is won, razes his fallen foe’s territories and slaughters those who had been loyal, but leaves the slaves to fend for themselves. 

Ages and ages later, the first mark they made on her disappears, just fades away.

Years are funny things; measurements that pass, meaningful by their content, but longevity can make them seem like sand. It took a long time for her name to come up on the list, a long series of masters and mistresses to go through, and finally escape. By the time her name rolls on the wheel, she is long, long gone, the chefs don’t care, and she is much different. The eras spent in dimensions terrible caused her to become something else. Now she can wear six different sets of wings depending on the need; sometimes all at once. No name exists for what she has become. She no longer has a god or Host to claim nor does she want or need one, but she is not Fallen. She was not conquered, but with her freedom, her allegiance becomes her own. She continues to fight, because it has become all that she remembers being. The things she did to survive and the fact she might have been corrupted by every scale, did not break her, but it did twist and bend her brutally and severely out of her original type and shape. She is something new, pure in what she is, but no longer necessarily Innocent.

One day the foreign marks which had been scored onto her body are completely gone. She is deep into battle, leading by being forward. She’s lost weapons on the way and picked up what has fallen from others. She faces a giant, red and fierce, with many teeth and club that is much bigger than she is. It breaks the shield and then her sword. She is tempted by an incantation, but she has been told that magic tends to bounce off this creature. 

She lays a trap instead, inscribing something in the dirt and blood very quickly and then stepping away. 

It follows her and steps where she made the mark; falls into a pit newly formed. 

Now it is at a height where she can just stand; no need to take flight or bare wings just yet. 

So she stands tall, staring it in one of its giant beady eyes and wishing she had something, anything in her hand at that moment. She feels an intuition, and an opening up, and it’s a terrible, frightening sensation. She is filled with light and she is broken and remade again. But in her hands are swords, long and sleek. A dark pupil collapses in on itself as it is assaulted by the brightness in her hands, in her. 

Andy roars, lifts both hands as if she’s carrying posts, and lunges forward without any hesitation at all. 

Creatures of all sorts learn to fear her or love her. She needs no book to speak arcane tongues to unleash forces and mayhem, though she can read them if she needs. The books she knows are part of her, inscribed on her and in her. She knows the roads and the planes and the mystic, magical ways. She knows Houses above and below. Some great beings owe her favors. She has no intention of using any of them. She doesn’t like them enough to do it.

She has had many names, many she could no longer remember, some she willingly chose to forget. Some end in “the terrible,” and still others ends in “the bloody.” All of them had been well earned.

One day her life changes yet again. An accident led her to a strange, plain world; a shoving through a maelström portal of chance that bounced her off the planes to someplace she’s never been - an earth. She sees the beasts and the beneficent, yet they all wear different skins. She tries to remember not to invoke complete destruction simply because she sees a creature. She doesn’t know the rules to the world well enough yet.

She chooses to learn it differently this time. She mutters an incantation and her body changes. She becomes a child, adopted and a part of a family that loved. Her parents, though their eyes are veiled to what she really is, love her unconditionally and it is soul deep. She plays the part of their second daughter and loses herself in it, finding a beautiful peace. She hopes it will stay this way always and the magic involved in her change lets forget it all. Her time with them heals a great many things. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy Sachs never expected to move to New York, but her boyfriend Nate insisted. Her intention had been to work up the ranks at one of the Cincinnati papers and maybe seek a second degree. She doesn’t sleep much; never has. He wanted to be a sous chef. He seems to sleep all the time.

But she likes him enough to follow him and they go. Her parents worried, but Andy felt mostly alright about the trip. They found a place quickly. It is snug and clean and perfect for a couple just starting out together. 

Andy realizes, after the first month, that wanting to be a sous chef and becoming one, does not necessarily mean a large paycheck. “I’m going to have to get a job,” she says to Nate, though he wanted to be their sole support. New York, however, is expensive. He gives in and she picks her best college articles and buffs her resume. She once won an award and she hopes that the quality of her work will help. 

After practicing her smiles and telling herself she can do it, she circles some likely candidates in the newspaper. For the purposes of survival, she is willing to do almost anything, except be any type of cook. She leaves the food up to Nate. For some reason, cooking meat makes her nauseous. She can’t even watch her father barbecue. She’ll eat what is served, but she won’t watch meat cooking as it happens.

The closest thing she has to a suit is a tan corduroy jacket, a blouse, black khakis and a lavendar sweater and some solid shoes. She feels like she looks okay enough for an entry-level job. If she were shooting for something higher, she might have made a phone call to her mom. Her mom knows how to dress her, or at least advise her, for the more important occasions, but has insisted that Andy take care of the rest.

Andy counts the job interview as “the rest.”

Elias-Clarke, to her, is just another big building in a very big city. She appreciates the architecture, its streamlined form, the glass that lets in the light, and glossy gold embossed beams that support it. It reminds her of something, but she can’t put her finger on what it is. She knows, however, as soon as she enters, that it might as well be another world. 

Though tempted to turn around, she forces herself to continue forward. She needs the job.

Human Resources sends her upstairs and where things are in chaos. The astonishingly snooty girl at the desk will not take her seriously, does not look at her resume and judges her on looks and her briefcase, of all things. 

Andy has skills. She knows she does. She knows she is smart and capable and has an extraordinary memory and eye for detail. She thinks the leather epaulet riding on Emily’s left shoulder would do absolutely nothing to block a sword stroke. 

She does not know why she thinks that, but she has those kinds of moments, where she feels slightly outside of herself; especially when she’s nervous.

If she thought things were chaos on entry, things are turned upside down when the girl and a bald man in glasses start calling an alarm. Andy takes cover by sitting at a desk. It seems like a logical thing to do. She tries her best not to draw any attention to herself at all and by the way everyone is running around, she thinks she might be successful.

It’s like a vibrational force, something felt before encountering. She knows a person of presence will step out of the elevator. 

She has also done that before. Her mother calls her intuitive. Her aunt Raylene uses the word psychic.

Either way, she is riveted when a woman with snow-white hair and a body built to stir the hardest soul, strides on by, snapping out orders with incredible vigor. As she passes Andy, the young woman inhales, even as she is trying to make herself even less conspicuous. The scent of the woman strikes her hard. Her pupils dilate, her mind blanks. 

She barely hears herself being called forward and then she struggles, grabbing her briefcase, which is then snatched and flung away by the redhead. By the time she arrives in the powerful woman’s office, she is feeling strange and off kilter, but she tries to pull herself together.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda has been warned by HR that if she ignores another one of their candidates they won’t send any more. When Emily arbitrarily decides to not even ask basic interview questions, she decides to intervene. She demands that the person be sent in.

She takes in everything in a glance, and understands why Emily resisted. No style. Barely even cognizant. That hair. Those clothes.

The eyes give her pause, and she could kick herself for looking, again, as if it were even possible. For half a second, maybe less, she thinks . . . perhaps . . . then she calls herself to heel. Impossible is impossible. Nan had told her the nameless slave was gone and that was that. She refuses to let her mind wander. She has an interview to conduct. She stares at the paperwork, flipping rapidly through it, words absorbed in an instant.

She loathes the shortening of a perfectly good name, refuses to say it. Won’t. 

And then the woman has the gall to challenge her, in her own office. 

She determines that she will call her Emily until she learns better. 

The brown eyes haunt her that night, but she forces herself to close her eyes and sleep.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The first few months of working at Runway are a gauntlet, a forger’s fire. Andy feels as if she is constantly cracking at the edges. She sees things, flashes of dark in an alley, of extra lights at night. Nate becomes more and more difficult, equating her work as abandonment. 

She had been afraid he might, even to the point of discussing it with her mom. Her mother says, “Do you want to quit?”

Andy, who has wanted to quit every day, simply can’t make herself say yes. She can’t leave and she does not know why. It’s not like there is a chain at the desk. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Ask for help from someone who knows how,” her mother says sagely. “Get an expert on your side.”

The only one at Runway who has shown any empathy has been Nigel. She practices her smiles in the mirror again. Sometimes they seem a little foreign to her, as if, in some imaginary real life, she rarely smiled. But she has been a smiler all her life. Her mother says she was a happy child. She remembers being happy. 

Just not smiling much about it.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The ecstasy of hearing her name, transformed as it is, is unspeakably thrilling. 

Right until she is directed upstairs by mischievous children. They have their mother’s bearing. She should have realized there was a trap, but they had helped her one way and she’d instinctively trusted them. Looking back, she had no idea why. She knew how kids could be.

It was something about their eyes, azure and sure. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda flings words out like knives, expressing the rage she feels. She watches as the cuts hit home, as the lips tremble and the young woman’s expression teeters on the brink. Brown eyes glaze and the young woman tilts her head down, so despair cannot be seen. The light hits them, just so, and there is a depth, an unfathomable ache, for the briefest flashing moment, and then it's gone as if it never existed.

The Goddess barely sees it, so caught up is she in her own pain and the embarrassment of having her vulnerable side exposed. The time is coming and another husband sends their marriage to the wolves. She tries to hate Stephen for it, but can not. So she hates the girl.

Like other Divinity before her, she makes an impossible quest, one designed to break the soul it is thrust at and makes the demand they all make. If the girl does not succeed, then “... don’t bother coming back.” The words roll off her tongue like a diamond edged sword. Then she marches out, and anger puts a swing in her hips.

Andy, even at the worst, even as she knows this is it and all, cannot help but think how beautiful Miranda is in that moment. 

That is why, later, just after she says she will quit, she changes her mind. She can’t leave. And she still does not know why.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Paris turns out to be traumatic. The celebration of fashion is ashes in Miranda’s mouth, but she chews any way and she gnaws the bones of her enemies. Symbolically speaking, of course. 

Andrea smells like cinnamon and Christian Thompson when she arrives at the door, half dressed and near indecent in her effort to warn the editor of impending crisis. Miranda is slightly thrown by the immediate sense of jealousy that permeates her responses, but she does not have time to process anything except the inconvenience and the egregiousness of being interrupted while she is trying to navigate the more tricky aspects of her machinations without immolating Irv. 

It is such a temptation, but she manages it, and feels great triumph when the moment of revelation comes. Later, when the dinner is done, she can appreciate the effort of her assistant more fully. She speaks of their commonalities, thinking that the young woman understands the triumph that has just occurred.

Andrea doesn’t. She looks scored and scared. Her eyes are too wide, too bright. “I could never do that,” she says.

“You already have.”

Miranda only says what is true, but as she says the words, she knows they are a mistake, she sees the shock; as if she has delivered a deadly wound. She sees the crack in the foundation and does not know what it means.

But as she turns to look for Andrea later, and sees that she is missing, the editor cannot find it in herself to be surprised, merely utterly disappointed.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The phone is nearly tossed in the fountain, then she remembers she bought it and paid for it and it had her ticket information on it. That is the only thing that keeps it in Andy’s hand. 

After the third imperious ring of summons, Andy turns off the phone and tucks it into her clutch. She needs time to process, to think. She needs relief from this terrible grief that she feels unraveling in her. 

She walks and walks, and realizes, if she goes back, if she spends so much as an hour at Runway, she won’t leave. Because, until this moment, she hadn’t the ability. 

The chain is broken, but she intuits that it is only if she stays away from Miranda, whose scent and shape haunt her at nights.

She opens the phone again, and several more calls have been made, but no messages. She wonders, briefly, if there had been, if she might have been tempted. Instead, she hits delete on all the calls and then she searches for the next flight out. As soon as the ticket is acquired, she returns to her hotel room, gathers her belongings and exits. While at the airport, using their wireless, she forwards all the information Miranda will need to Miranda’s email. She also sends an “as of this moment,” resignation. Nothing is really gained, and quite a bit is lost, but she technically has her dignity.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	2. Chapter 2

The job at the Mirror pays the bills, but it’s not as exciting as Andy thought it would be. In fact, it is less exciting than Runway by miles. It is missing key components. For one thing, the women who flounce into the Mirror to do their jobs hold no interest for Andy. Nor do the men. For the other, the stories she is sent to cover are pedestrian personality pieces.

Nate is long gone, heading for the softer spaces of Boston. He will be an excellent chef there. They stay friends. It is easier than trying to make long distance work and they had already broken up anyway. 

Andy’s parents kind of want her to return home, not necessarily to live with them, but just to be around. She is tempted, because she misses them, but she has a lease. She is counting the days, because maybe she will. The thing that ties her to New York is want for what she can not have. It burns in her, but she can not see that it does any good. 

Then one day she gets a random phone call, from a number she recognizes. A child’s voice is on the line, insecure, “Why haven’t you come back?”

She feels as if she should not have this conversation, but she cares for the girl. After the Harry Potter thing, the twins were much changed toward her. They think she can do anything and aren’t jaded about her as an adult yet. So she is just as reluctant to disappoint. She answers. “You are probably going to have to ask your mom that.”

“You were the only good one.”

Somehow, Andy understands what she means, but she thinks sometimes children exaggerate. “I’m sure there are others who were. But thank you. That’s kind.” Then she admits, “I miss you and your sister too. I hope you are happy.”

“It’s boring, but we’re okay.”

Andy knows how she feels. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It takes a full six months for Miranda to finally settle on a replacement. One might as well have set a revolving door at HR. She has Emily train the successful candidates, then moves her into editing, where she absolutely shines. Her critiques are a delightful read, tiny islands of hope and caustic amusement, when Miranda examines the Book at night. The assistants are tolerable, but not yet well formed. They will be when she is done with them.

At night she dreams of brown eyes and Andrea, and rolls her eyes at her subconscious for making the connection. She is a Goddess, not a sap. But she can admit, in the privacy of her mind, that she might miss the brunette a little and understands, in general terms, why her dreams insist on being invaded by the woman who left. 

One day she is leaving Elias-Clarke and they spot each other. The girl waves at her, offering a hapless smile. It’s ridiculous. 

Yet, when Miranda is in the car, she finds a small grin forming. She doesn’t know why and has no reason to believe that it will be last time she sees Andrea for a long time.

One day she notices that a particular byline she watches disappears. When the third week passes, she has an Emily contact the editor at the Mirror. Andrea no longer works there. She has headed back to the Midwest to be near family.

Miranda can not figure out why she feels so devastated. She is awful to work with for the next month, an absolute terror. 

Irv picks that month to push very hard and unjustly accuses her about the budget, which this time really isn’t her fault. He disappears. No one seems to actually miss him, not even his wife.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy does not stay long in the middle states. They’re okay and she likes being near family, but she feels a constant ache to move on. She realizes she felt more at home in New York, but can’t bear the thought of going back.

She heads west. 

Seattle is nice, but wet. Las Vegas is both too dark and too bright at the same time. She thinks perhaps she just needs to find a nice middle sized town until she knows what she wants. 

Sunnydale, California has a nice ring to it, so she chooses to find a house there. They are oddly affordable. Plus they have a University. She decides to finish up that second degree.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Like others of the human race, sometimes Andy needs to go out at night. The twenty-four hour grocer is nearly empty. She parks close to the door. She sees a group of kids, tightly knit, but easy in body language, walk into the store.

Since moving to Sunnydale she has been having very strange dreams. She does not include the ones about Miranda. To her those are never strange and make total sense. She wants what she wants, but can not have it, so the subconscious provides.

No, the other dreams are filled with fire and things that feel like sense memories, but are too impossible to be. She dreams of magic, of summoning and being summoned, of arcane battles. She wakes up sweating every night, but not screaming. 

Once she is awake, however, she is awake. She uses that time to freelance. She’s had articles published and is beginning to feel a sense of accomplishment that way. She might actually make a living to go with the schooling. 

The twenty-four hour store is brightly lit and she has no inhibition about entering. She walks the aisle, seeking something sweet or chippy. Or both. She’s been snackish lately, as if the dreams are work. She often wakes up hungry. 

When she leaves the store there is nothing in particular that warns her, no sense that suddenly kicks into place. 

One moment she is placing her packages in the car, the next she is being dragged into the dark. 

They tell her exactly what they plan to do, call her lunch. Their faces are much changed, with brows that remind her of star trek aliens and eyes that remind her of predators. They hulk over her, happy in their pack, and confident.

She thinks she should scream, but her mouth never opens to do so. 

It’s the teeth that do it. When one of them opens their mouth wide, Andy flashes back and then rushes forward. He slams her against the wall, unaware that he’s caught something much bigger than he is. She looks so small against the bricks. Her body shakes and heaves and he thinks it is fear. 

He laughs and gloats with his friends. 

The next thing they know a bright light flashes and that is all.

Andy is surrounded by dust and holds two bright swords in her hands. She stands very still and then dizziness takes her. The swords disappear.

She stumbles to the car and does not remember how she made it home.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

After that, she can’t not see. She spies creatures moving in the dark, in the light. She sees past the masks. And she remembers all those faces past, the ones she blithely walked by. 

In the mean time she is changing, physically, mentally and emotionally. What were small cracks in the illusion before, become chasms under her skin. Her face stays the same, but things morph. It’s like going through puberty all over again and painful. She wakes up a little taller, a little more muscular. She sees something on her back in the mirror and has to stop and grab her phone to snap pictures. She has tattoos. They are golden sword handles on her shoulder blades, with the hint of a blade showing. 

Andy is frankly shocked and scared and thinks, for a few brief days, that she may be experiencing black outs or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. 

Except, she does not feel particularly stressed about what happened, only about what is happening. It’s confusing and she doesn’t like it.

It is interfering with her studies and she misses classes.

One day, classmates shows up at her doorstep. Both are friendly. One is a redhead and amazingly chatty. The other is blonde, much less chatty, but exudes an extraordinary sense of peace that feels like a memory, but Andy can’t quite call it up. They had been worried about her, and the blonde, Tara, said that she felt that they were needed. The redhead, Willow, brought her assignments from the classes she’d missed, and for some reason, announced that they’d covered for her. She didn’t know why they did it, but she was grateful, as it meant that she would not fall too far behind. They fall instantly into a conversation, which lingers at the doorstep until, surprising herself, she gestures for them to come in. She never lets anyone into her place, but they are different. For some reason, she feels that they will be important.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Willow notices the difference almost as immediately as she steps on the sidewalk leading to the porch. It’s like she passes through a bubble or force-field of... well, it’s not peace exactly. Nor is it rest. It reminds her a little of synagogue and church. But it’s something palpable and unique on its own. Safety. 

“Sanctified ground,” Tara whispers. 

That’s it and it’s surprising; very, very few places of true sanctuary exist in Sunnydale any more.

Willow tucks this information in the back of her mind; for emergencies. One just never knows if one needs a place to run to. Too many churches lately have lost their power and while Tara and her rooms are safe, they can’t live in them. Well, they do live in them, but they can’t solely exist in them, she clarifies for herself. The Summers’ residence was the only place they really had, but this one was much more powerful.

She feels safer than she has in days as she walks toward the house. A weird energy has been around their town. Both she and Tara have noticed. it may have started small, but with every brain that she sucks, Glory was getting stronger. Considering that she was a hellgod, and certifiably insane by any scale ever created, there were few places that the Scoobies felt safe anymore. She’d even stormed through the Slayer’s house not too long ago.

Here though, as Willow walks up one step to the small porch leading to the door, the redhead feels her shoulders drop and breathes easy. Now, despite her original nerves about delivering homework to a relative stranger, someone they’ve only known for a handful of days, she lets go of fear. The person who lives here, she thinks, is not someone of whom to be afraid. Here was a place of true sanctuary, and she planned to soak in as much of it as she could before they had to leave.

She feels vindicated in the thought when Andy Sachs opens the door. She’s older than Willow, but her eyes are kind, her expression is friendly if a little stressed. 

They talk a bit, and then, Willow and Tara are wordlessly invited to enter Andy’s house. 

It feels even better on the inside.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda chose Dalton as the school for her children for three reasons. It has an excellent pedigree, heritage and staff, which means her children will learn and be taught by the best. Those who work at the school do so with full knowledge of their reality. Finally, the school is on sacred ground and warded below to above. She feels secure in the knowledge that whatever may try to challenge and chase her, must do so on her terms and can not touch them. Added to that, everyone knows that to go after her children, even symbolically, is to risk destruction; most don’t take that risk.

Layered on top of that, the service she employs, which provide housekeeping, child care and the driving services, act as another level of security. They might not know exactly who and what she is, but they do know she is other; even more so than they themselves are. She pays them well to do their jobs and they revel in the knowing that they will never be fired for simply being what they are. She depends on it.

Her home is a safe haven, and there are reasons why she only allows a select few entry. If they are tapped, it is not just because they are deserving, but because she has sensed in them something that makes them fit to enter. She has never had a party in her home. All it would take is an invitation falling into the wrong hands. 

Not that as divinity she has need of worry in that direction, but her children are still growing and still vulnerable and still in need of protection. She doesn’t even know that they will become anything other than ordinary and average. 

She almost hopes so; there are hazards to being special. 

At least, however, her daughters know she loves them. Miranda has heard far too many stories of Gods rejecting their children. She doesn’t understand those kinds of beings and finds it to be a massive personality flaw; one worthy of erasure. 

Fortunately, for them, she generally surrounds herself with “friends in common;” those who share certain values and perspectives. She even knows the head of one blood clan, who holds their childer to be of worth and as more than fodder for political tussles. She can respect that and even support, so long as they keep to certain ethics. She has never had cause to interfere. 

Runway is a pivotal point in her strategy, though not her only one. With the magazine in her grasp, however, she has a great deal of influence, much more than many realize. It’s not just a business, but a font of power that is ever flowing; which means, of course, she had to protect it from Irv’s interference. He had no understanding of the stakes. It makes her wonder about the board. She suspects at least one among them is not a friend. Not that it matters. One of these days she might dispense with the facade and the temple will reveal itself, but for now, it serves her purpose and protects her interests.

It is also a visible target. 

She is ever mindful of this. It is what she planned, after all.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Based on one day’s discussion, Willow has decided that Andy is a keeper. Tara keeps hinting that there is something extraordinary, but has not quite pegged the what. They both know a place that they might find out, and where the young woman might feel welcome. She hasn’t actually been in Sunnydale that long. She needs more friends. 

She might even be a potential Scooby, but both Tara and Willow have been very careful about what they say to Andy. They don’t want to scare her off. Their intentions are good, and though they may be motivated to find out what it is that causes their skin to goose bump around her, they also just want her to feel welcome. 

They make an informal appointment to go the magic shop after classes. Andy agrees, thinking they’re just going shopping. It’s not entirely untrue, because Andy might buy something, so Willow let’s the supposition rest. She has learned that it is sometimes best not to explain ulterior motives.

The door’s bell jingles as they enter. Willow can see that someone, probably Anya, has been cleaning up. The magic shop’s windows tend to get blown out and replaced a lot. Most of the stores in Sunnydale have this problem. The glazer in town is a wealthy, wealthy man, even with his prices being somewhat below industry standard. He has a team of emergency window repairmen and they can have a window fixed in an hour. They have the shop’s specs on record. Giles also always tips well. This means they usually get their windows right away. It’s a nice perk.

Willow looks for Giles and sees that he is busy with a customer, so she waves Andy in. The young woman smiles in trepidation, but follows the redhead. Tara is behind her. Willow invites Andy to take a look around, which the young woman is kind of already doing. She’s found a shelf of semi-magical knick-knacks; hand crafted items that might have a rune or two carved on them, or small round crystal balls that are really only good for decoration, or even just a glazed unicorn or two. The brunette hums, as if she is distracted and Willow wanders off to wait for Giles. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Tara follows Andy around the store, discreetly, not because of lack of trust, but because she finds her interesting. The aura she has is very much dampened, but the blonde can sense great power in it. She has noticed, that where Andy walks, the ground’s essence changes temporarily. It’s why she likes walking behind Andy. 

Tara has been absorbing the vibes, storing them up; not necessarily intentionally, but it’s like she can’t help it. She wishes Willow would do the same, but she hasn’t shared her observation yet. 

She feels safe when Andy is around, not that she noticed it before in class; before Andy disappeared from class. But now... she knows something has changed in the girl, something profound.

But she feels safe, when Andy is around, as if some doomful hand is being abated by her mere presence. 

Andy, however, still seems like a normal girl. She doesn’t say anything magical or ask about things arcane or dangerous. Come to think of it, outside of their discussion at Andy’s home, where they learned that she once worked in New York for Runway, the brunette rarely says much. Yet, Tara knows for a fact, that Andy can keep up with Willow in the chat department. 

She was a witness.

Tara spots Willow’s signal and says, “Andy, I think my girlfriend wants us.”

The other woman grins quickly and Tara can see the tease start in her eyes, but she also sees her gentle it. “Well, it’s good to be wanted,” Andy says instead of what she might could have. 

Tara appreciates it. She tends to blush prolifically otherwise. She thinks Andy respects her. Sometimes the Scoobies treat her still as an interloper and maybe a little dumb, just because she is quiet and stutters. She gets none of that feeling from Andy, who waits and listens. Andy told her, “Sometimes I stutter too. I think it’s because I know too many languages, even though I only know English. Know what I mean?”

Yes. She definitely knows what Andy means. Sometimes, on the tip of her tongue there are full blown sentences and paragraphs that want to slip out. It’s as if English is her second language rather than her first. 

They go to the counter. Willow has pulled up three seats; one for her, one for Tara and one for Andy. In the back, Anya can be heard muttering, “Sure, a seat for everyone, but me. Typical.”

Tara does not bother pointing out that Anya’s seat is behind the counter and no one is in it. The girl just likes to complain sometimes. It’s a venting mechanism for a person who used to be a vengeance demon. 

Andy takes a seat and Willow begins the introductions, starting with Giles. He’s a tall man, broad shoulder, brown haired and eyed. He hems and haws like he always does, in a British accent, while wiping his glasses. Tara suspects he doesn’t even need those glasses, but she could not prove it. She thinks he buys time, so he can think and process whether he thinks someone is a danger or not. She knows he keeps a stake, a gun and a knife under the counter. And just behind him rests a baseball bat. 

Giles is a little paranoid. They all are.

Eventually, however, he gets around to a real greeting. It might be because Andy offers him one of those beautiful, genuine smiles of hers, as if she’s glad to see him, the world, everything. Tara sometimes expects rainbows and blue-birds to start haloing around the woman.

They don’t, of course. She just gets that sense sometimes. 

“You have interesting things here,” Andy says as she gazes around. She folds her arms on the counter, as if she’s at a bar and a drink has been set in front of her. She’s comfortable. Instead of asking what most ask, whether the stuff inside the shop works or not, she says, “What got you started in the business?”

Giles is surprised, but his shoulders ease. He tells her that it was an opportunity he could not pass up. He says the former owner left it in such good condition and the accounting had demonstrated spectacular numbers and as he had an interest in the occult, it was a perfect fit. Then he smiles, warmly and without any of his normal diffidence.

Tara is shocked. In less than five minutes, Andy has pulled out information that only Scoobies knew. Then she remembers that Andy used to be a journalist and now is a freelance writer. 

Maybe it’s a skill.

Anya finally finishes whatever she was doing in the back. She steps out of the shadows, griping about them starting without her and then goes abruptly silent. Everyone looks at her. The small blonde woman is not quite gaping, but her head is forward and her eyes are wide as if she can’t believe what she is seeing. She is looking directly at Andy. 

Andy’s head is tilted, but all she’s doing is looking back, a little puzzled.

Anya emits a peep and then steps back into the shadow of the back space. Then she steps out into the light again, as if, perhaps wondering if she’d passed through the wrong door. She gulps and then glances at all of them as if they are a little crazy. She offers one of the fakest smiles that Tara has ever seen on Anya’s face, and she’s seen plenty of them. The smile lasts about two seconds before a different look rises on her face; panic.

Whatever she was looking for, she apparently has not found.

Then Anya says, raising her hands as if in surrender or in supplication, “Lynalhat unttanach. Tinomir Andreasalum. Ardtherund hatan hatan.” She says those words as if she can’t help it, but she switches to English and drops her hands. Her expression is earnest and vulnerable. “Terrible One, have compassion. I swear my contract is done. You can ask any of them. They are my witnesses.” She adds, defensively, “And my friends. I even have a boyfriend. His name is Xander and he is very good at sex.”

It is apparent from Andy’s expression that she has no idea what Anya is going on about. She looks at all of them and they are staring at her too now. 

She looks back at Anya, who is quivering. She flicks a glance at Willow and Tara, before saying, as if testing the crazy waters, “Have you had compassion?”

Anya’s head starts moving up and down, and she steps forward half a step. “Oh yes. Oh yes. The other day I did not kill a bug, and I could have. And I didn’t yell at Xander when he left his underwear on the floor, again. And I helped an old lady find the most boring book ever. I even gave her a discount. I am very good to my friends.” She glanced at Willow and Tara, as if urging them on, “Aren’t I!”

Willow’s gaze is more toward Andy now, as is Tara’s. Neither of them are sure what to make of anything. But Tara offers, like she would any how, “Y-yes you are. M-much improved.”

“See!” Anya all but screeches.

Andy’s eyes are very wide, and her expression is completely mystified. “Well, if you are, and your friends say so, then I guess I will be too.”

Anya goes still. “Your word?”

“So long as you follow …. your path.” The way Andy says it, makes it sound like a question, but Anya’s expression utterly changes. 

“Oh. Wow,” she says. Then she blinks. “I have to go have sex with my boyfriend. I promised him.” She starts away and then pauses, “Or did he promise me?” She shakes her head and then throws a smile. “Doesn’t matter. Now it’s a celebration.”

She passes by Andy on the way, and offers a full bow. Then she is out the door.

Andy waits a beat and then turns to all of them. “What the frilly heck was that all about?”

Giles has his glasses off again and he’s wiping and wiping. He says slowly, “I think, perhaps, it is a case of mistaken identity.” Then he pauses, “But perhaps we should look at some texts to be sure.”

Andy offers a hapless smile of befuddlement and snorts in disbelief because he is looking at her so very seriously, “Well, I’m pretty sure you're not going to find anything about me in any books. Well, except for a who’s who. I had a professor who submitted my name once.”

Tara is once again reminded of Willow and the way she talks. She can’t help the smile. She touches Andy’s arm. “W-we were thinking of showing you books anyway. These are just different kinds.”

“Well, okay.” Andy shrugs. “I guess I got time.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It’s not what she expects and it’s all very, very interesting. “So these are like encyclopedias,” Andy says. She runs her hand over ancient leather and likes the texture. A part of her mind wonders what Miranda would think of the color. “Can I look at one?”

They all look at Giles. He looks as if he might be tempted to pull his glasses off yet again, but then he nods. “Of course.”

Andy grins. “Cool.”

Then she pulls a heavy tome toward herself and opens it to the first page. She scans over it, running her hand over the page, then flips to the next page, doing the same thing. She finds a rhythm, and gets lost in the text. She has always been a speed reader. Occasionally she comments something along the lines of, “Oh, I’ve seen one of these.”

She hears the question from one of them. Usually it’s “Where?” Sometimes it is “When?” She answers, without looking up from her reading. Usually it was New York, a year or two ago. But sometimes it was closer afield. 

A part of her is thrilled at this find, at this moment. This was what she had been looking for. She doesn’t know why she thinks that, but she likes the book, likes understanding what she is seeing and being able to put names to “faces.” The rules, she senses, are much more flexible than they first appear. Magic hides the battles, but it helps if one is discreet.

She finds that very interesting.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	3. Chapter 3

Were it not for the fact that Willow and Tara already knew how fast Andy could read, they might have been spooked. As it was, the redhead pulls Giles aside to let him know this is normal. He is looking more and more concerned. 

“She’s okay,” Willow tries reassuring him. “I mean, both Tara and I know she’s a little different, but there was no reason for Anya to be … well...”

Gile shakes his head, pursing his lips slightly. “We all know that a person does not always know what they are and that sometimes the body is only a shell.”

They are both thinking of one very young person in particular, but neither bring up her name. No one can quite work up the guts to tell her what they know. It’s too hurtful. Buffy has sworn them all to secrecy. Magic may have been involved in the creation, but from their perspective, Dawn is hers - child or sister, it doesn’t matter. She is to be protected, not because of some mystical compulsion, but because she is family. Scoobies know this one truth, one does for family and friends who might as well be. 

Willow does not bring up the fact that she thinks that Andy is taller than when they first met. She does not think it will ease Giles’ mind. Before she can deliver a trump argument, they hear a comment, “Ooh. I know this one!”

Long practice in protecting their lives has them both asking, “Where?” 

“When?”

Just to be on the safe side.

Andy answers without even looking up and everyone exhales in relief as she mentions New York, which, from a Sunnydale perspective is worlds away.

“Well,” Giles says, “Perhaps we better get to work.” After all, there are still plenty of books to go through.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The evening sun is much lower on the horizon when the bell chimes. A petite woman with her blonde hair in a pony tail, and dressed in designer jeans, blouse and jacket, and wearing steel toed black boots, enters the store. She is followed by another, younger person, a girl; who still finds the store quite fascinating. “Wills, Tara, Giles,” they older of the two greets as the girl gazes around looking to see what is new. They both notice that the trio are seated around the round table with a stack of books in front of them. They also both notice the brunette, who is flipping through pages very rapidly. Tara is sitting beside her, apparently taking notes. 

The brunette says without looking up, “Ooh, another one. Ungrelim. Ohio, if you can believe. Cincinnati. A year ago. Harmless though. May even be good for the environment. They eat mice.”

“Andy,” says Willow. “Maybe it’s time to take a break.” 

“Hmm. What?” The young woman glances up, as if coming out of a meditation. “Willow?”

“I have some more people I’d like you to meet.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Buffy and Andy regard each other warily. Buffy, because she is a slayer and she is cautious of every stranger. Andy, because, unknown circumstances make her cautious too. Buffy’s senses tingle, but not the way she is used to. In fact, one might call it oppositional. She smells cinnamon and that reminds her of home-baked cookies and cozy nights and details that have nothing to do with what she recognizes as a danger. The blonde resists getting comfortable though, because she knows sometimes beauty or even “niceness” can be a horrible facade. She’s been there way too many times.

Andy does not extend a hand, so neither does Buffy. They settle for nods and a brief hello. 

Dawn is much more curious. She’s young. She should be more frightened than she is, because of what happened with Glory running around their house, but she recovers quickly from unusual life events. “Where are you from?”

Andy answers easily, even as her eyes explore the face as if memorizing. “Ohio. Just outside of Cincinnati.”

“Where you said the Ungrelim live.”

“Some of them. Maybe. They could have been a wandering tribe, I guess. But I thought they looked like the type to settle down, watch over a place. You know, make friends.”

Andy has no idea why she thinks that. She finds Dawn fascinating. There is green behind her eyes. A very pure green that she sees quite clearly. She gets the sense that she should be remembering something about it, but what she also sees is a young, curious, likable girl.

Andy chooses to let it go. She has so many puzzles in her life, what is another? Plus, she figures, she can ask Willow or Tara. They seem to see things like she does.

“So what are you doing?” Dawn looks at the stacked books and open texts and the notepad.

“Anya thought I was someone. It led to looking at books.”

“Ah. Research. I’m good at research.”

“We were just getting ready to take a break,” interjects Willow. They’ve been at it for hours. 

Neither of the recent arrivals appear horribly disappointed. Buffy says, “So. Pizza then?”

By mutual agreement of all, pizza is summoned by the usual means; a phone call.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Later, Buffy has a page of notes which she has snagged from Tara. It is the list of things seen by Andy in Sunnydale. The note includes locations, dates, opinions. Buffy recognizes quite a few, but there are also some she hadn’t been aware of. They could have been passing through, she realizes, but now she feels obligated to go visit a certain bar at the end of town, just to be sure. 

She wishes, briefly, that Faith was back, but she’s travelling and trying to find her way. She’ll return, but it’ll be in her own time and hopefully she’ll be better for it. Buffy, with the help of college level psychology classes and the passage of time, has come to understand more and knows that, for both of them, there were other issues at play; not just being a slayer, but being a teen while slaying... Everything seemed so black and white then. Now, not so much. 

Buffy glances at Andy and wonders what she is doing in Sunnydale; aside from college. The slayer realizes that she’s probably being overly suspicious, but it’s been a bad few weeks. She owes it to Dawn to be hyper-aware and situationally alert. She patrols twice as much, especially around their home. She has no tolerance for taking chances.

Which is why she has the list and why she is definitely going to the bar. 

At some point after pizza and before midnight, Buffy slips out of the store almost unnoticed. Dawn, she knows is safe, and is helping with the research, but nothing much is being found. The slayer will return after she’s busted a few heads and dusted a few vamps. She knows she’ll either find them all still buried in books or deep in talk. It’s probably good that the next day is a Saturday. At least this way she doesn’t have to worry about Dawn staying up too late for school. 

Not for the first time or the last, she wishes their Mom were still alive. Sometimes Dawn is very hard to wake, even when she goes to bed early. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The next day, while the shop is empty for a moment, Giles attempts to ask Anya what she knows. They have possible leads, but nothing solid. No names, no images. She gives him another are you crazy look and says, "Oh no! I've already got my free pass. She’s doesn’t give those often. I’m not risking it. You talk to somebody else!"

She refuses to say anything else about the topic, not even a hint as to where to look. When Giles suggests that perhaps Anya is mistaken about Andy, she gets irritated, points a finger at him and says, “Watch it buddy!” Then she disappears into the back and he hears the noise of things being organized angrily. She won’t even come out to watch the cashier’s box, which is something she loves to do.

It makes for a long, sighing day at work, with a lot of wiping of glasses.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy went to bed late. She wakes up even later. The day has almost passed and it’s dark outside again. She doesn’t remember falling into bed, but when she gets up she notices that the bottom sheets have ripped away from the corners and the bedding is coiled and tangled. She remembers dreaming. Or is it that she remembers remembering. She can’t tell which any more and it hurts.

She calls her mom, just to chat. Cecelia, also known as Cece, Sachs comforts a daughter who can’t articulate what is wrong, but she knows the bad dreams. Andy has had them before. She recognizes the monster ones just by the tone of her daughter’s voice and makes a homey prescription. “Tonight sounds like a double-fudge night.”

“I slept all day,” Andy says guiltily. 

“And you were up how late again?”

Andy doesn’t have to answer, but she leans on the kindness in her mom’s voice. “I think I’m changing, Mom. I wake up and I feel all jumbled and then different.”

“Life is change,” CeCe soothes. “And, as long as it’s not drugs or a life of crime, you know your Dad and I support you.” She pauses a beat and next says, “Well, and even then. Just let us know when you need intervention or for us to hide the bodies.”

Andy laughs despite herself, loving her mom more in that moment than she can even describe.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy holds the stake between two fingers and a thumb and offers Willow a baffled look. “Why do I need this again?”

“You’re coming with us,” the redhead says. “We thought you might want to see what we do. I mean, besides reading books.” ‘We’ encompasses a group of three people: Willow, Tara and Xander. Andy would make the fourth. “We help with the slayage, so it’s not all on Buffy.”

“Practical application of skills?” Andy inquires and she glances at the small group. She feels a bit as if this whole thing is like group work at college; there’s a lot of studying and even a professor. The only thing missing is being graded. And then she kind of wonders if she might still be evaluated.

Willow smiles and nods, “Exactly.” Then she lifts her hands, “But don’t worry. We’ll handle everything.” She points at the stick. “That’s just in case.” Then she points at her heart. “It’s for vampires. You stick it about here.” She gets specific, “In them.”

Andy does not look at them as if they’ve lost their marbles. She has been paying attention to the books and she remembers the night at the store. Vaguely. “Um. So, do I just carry it then?”

“Well, that’s why we wear coats.”

“O-or sweaters.”

“Or a toolbelt,” Xander provides. He looks very much like a handyman at the moment. She sees ordinary tools - a hammer, screwdrivers and pliers - and a couple of stakes around his belt. They are “gun” position at his hip, like a form of wild-west readiness. The only thing missing is his yellow safety hat and that is on the counter. Andy can see what Anya sees in him. The S-shaped forelock of his hair reminds her a little of Miranda, except his hair is brunette and much shorter than hers. 

Then again, most everything reminds her of Miranda. She is a never-ending parade of thought and connections, which Andy has learned to just...accept. 

“But it’s good to have it in your hands when walking in the dark anyway.”

Andy grips the base of the stick then, just to get a feel for it. “Well,” she says, without a lot of confidence, “It seems... very stake-like.” She shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS----- 

A cemetery would make sense to Andy, but waiting in the alley behind a bar seems counter-intuitive; until she sees people start to leave. Then she understands. Potential victims, flushed with alcohol and a loss of perception stagger out. They are easy targets. 

She wonders how the others can tell if someone is a vampire. Would they be walking out with the person or just …

She feels, rather than sees, the shadow move. But once she’s aware of it, she can hardly miss it. Just to be sure, she feels she has to ask. “Is that one?” she whispers to Tara. She points. With the stake.

The shadow turns and faces towards them and Andy realizes that she has been heard. When it steps out into the more lit area, it seems like a pretty normal guy. Until his face turns ugly and mean, real fast. “I see the slayer’s friends have all come to play. We’ve been waiting for you!”

“It’s a trap!” Xander says needlessly. He lifts a crossbow, which he has been carrying. It has a bolt of wood in it, ready to fire. The twang of the string is the only indication that he has already depressed the trigger. 

The next thing Andy knows, they are all moving. Willow is flinging amazingly effective, but tiny balls of fire at the chests of vampires who are part of the ambush. Tara is shielding her. They move together, more than just an item. They are the weapon.

At first Andy is just trying to take it all in, then she senses danger behind her. She whirls, and it’s as if a dance of death choreographer has taken over. The stake isn’t just a piece of wood anymore, it’s an extension of herself, and any surface is the dance floor. She runs and kicks off walls, jumps over beings trying to chase her, slides under them, breaks bones and bodies and dusts in passing. She loses herself in the battle, finds release and terrible glee in it. Then it is over, much too soon. The dust, which seems to glow in the light, settles around her like an ash-y snow. 

Willow and Xander look as if they’ve experienced an epiphany. The young man waves a hand at her, “Well, that explains it! She’s a slayer!”

“She must be,” Willow says, amazement in her voice.

“B-but …,” Tara starts and then she decides not to offer commentary. She is very much of the wait and see school, but she also does not like to be wrong.

Andy looks at the wood in her hand. It has become just another object again. She looks at the others. She doesn’t have a better explanation.

They return to the shop. Willow and Xander are exuberant, excited to have a new team-member. Tara is cautiously hopeful. Andy is just... just.

Xander shares the good news with Giles and Anya. 

The ex-vengeance demon props her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “She is not a slayer!” Then, shaking her head at their obliviousness, she stomps toward the writer. “You. Are. Not. A. Slayer.” She says it firmly and with great clarity, shaking her index finger at the brunette. Then she whirls away from them all and disappears into the back room, which seems to have become her haunt when upset. 

She’s been upset a lot since Andy’s arrival. 

Well, and from before then too.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Though she is on the east coast, she is not unaware of the pressures elsewhere. Miranda’s senses are only limited by her will, not by other forces. She might choose not to throw her attention out into the world or the void or even the universe, but that only means it is her choice. 

Lately she has been experiencing the oddest sensations. They are intangible almost-awareness, like the hint of a flavor or scent. When she does sleep, as she sometimes chooses, she will dream of a certain brunette and feel so strongly as if she is present, that it is a shock not to have her in the bed when Miranda awakens. On those days, she always wakes up aroused. She sometimes wakes satiated, which is even more astonishing.

She tells herself that it is not anything important, just a lingering after-effect of a challenging professional relationship. Certainly, while Andrea had become skillful at assisting and fetching, she was not overtly remarkable. It’s just that brown-eyed connection, haunting her again. 

She has means of clamping down on the dreams. Some are quite draconian though and she is reluctant to employ the ones that would sever the tie completely. After all, she might want to read something from Andrea now and then. 

She has spied the young woman’s by-line twice, and so now knows that she is both alive and still writing. Miranda finds the thought soothing and takes comfort in the idea that perhaps Andrea will find her way. 

In the meantime, she supposes she might as well enjoy the dreams when they happen and appreciate the distraction. 

She has needed them. It is not just the stresses of preparation, but lately she has noticed certain unfriendly pressures attempting to find a way through the careful traps and barriers she has set around Runway. She has doubled security at her house, because she has sensed feelers for troublesome things around there too. Something has an interest in her and her household, and it is not a friend.

Were it not for yet another fashion week arriving soon, she would pay more attention and choose a more proactive approach, but times are busy and she has appearances to keep up. She does, however, ask a friend or two to do some exploring for her. If it’s a random magic user there are ways of handling the issue in ways that won’t cause a crisis. If it’s something more, well, she has other tricks up her sleeve. 

She feels confident that things will go as planned and as she wills it. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Time passes. 

Buffy accepts that Andy is, if not harmless, at least not the one she needs to worry about now and so they’ve arrived at a kind of “working” relationship. She also does not believe Andy to be a slayer, but goes along with the theory as nothing else better presents itself. They have yet to “slay” together. Buffy resist the idea. Andy does not blame her, though she tries to reach out.

Dawn accepts her as one of the gang and they leave her with Andy when there is no one else. She and the young girl have an easy relationship. They sometimes watch movies or go out to do things. Andy chooses to see herself as just an older friend rather than a child-sitter. Dawn is mature for her age. She’s still very young and her mom is gone. However, she needs a friend more than a sitter. 

The only ones to visit Andy’s home, are Willow and Tara. Lately, it’s become more ceremonial than visit-y. She’s allowed them to make a more-or-less permanent circle in the back. In some ways, technically, it’s a grove. Andy has trees, which surround the space they’ve chosen. They use paving stones to make the circle, with a really large one in the middle. They use chalk to make any specific marks when they need it. Andy has not tried to use the space by herself. She supposes she could, but isn’t comfortable with the idea. She thinks of it as theirs, rather than hers. She is learning a lot though. They all are.

She often feels like a pinch hitter; as if she is filling in where someone else might have been. Willow and Tara will grab her for a third in an invocation when no one else is available. Xander wants her as partner on slaying outings every other time. It’s weeks before they tell her about Faith or she hears stories about Cordelia. Or Angel. Or Riley.

Meanwhile, Andy feels as if she is practically living at the store. She does a lot of reading and contemplating of the texts, but mostly she is there hanging out. Ironically, it is Anya who makes Andy feel the most comfortable; aside from Dawn. There is just something about her. It might be the stinging wit or the extreme bluntness. Andy can appreciate that about her and she finds it liberating. Anya is finally speaking to her like a normal person and in some ways has ‘adopted,’ her from Willow and Tara. Anya is the one who will plunk a book down and say, “Here. Read this.” 

The topics are all over the place, but lately Anya has been offering texts on consecration and purification, blessings, invocations and summons. Andy, who played Dungeons and Dragons as a teen, thinks of them as the “cleric,” texts; relatives of the wizarding tomes that Willow and Tara seems to favor, but different. Not that those tomes haven’t found their way into Andy’s hands too. After a certain point she has become a definite expert in theory, if not application. 

After trying to interfere once and getting a harangue by Anya for his effort, Giles stays out of it. Andy doesn’t mind. She’s certainly older than most of the Scoobies and can take care of herself, if it comes to it. She feels as if more and more missing pieces are starting to find their way back. It hasn’t all come together, yet, but she is no longer afraid of what is happening to her. 

She doesn’t feel the need to mention any of the changes to anyone. Anya, however, just seems to know. She nods on some days, as if with satisfaction or as if she’s been quietly monitoring Andy for signs. The brunette does not know exactly what she sees, but she is now at the point when she can almost know the days it will happen.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy catches the news by chance. She is in the student union rec-room when someone switches the channel to INN, which is doing a half-hour cultural arc like they always do about this time of day. Several pieces blip by, and then she sees a model pacing like a thoroughbred down a runway. She suddenly remembers what month it is and and what time. A major fashion show is going on in Italy. The elite are in attendance, including Miranda. 

The camera pans and, Andy’s breath catches; there she is. Miranda looks, as usual, gorgeous and in control. Andy reads her expression as interested, but not committed. The editor-in-chief’s not in love with pieces, but she’ll make do. The young woman figures she’s already plotting how to fit them in to the magazine and when. 

Andy feels a tightness in her chest, behind her eyes, which suddenly glisten with a little extra moisture. She is reminded, even more strongly than the dreams, that the heart wants what it wants. She aches with the knowing and feels as if a piece of her has been missing for centuries. Eons. Relief has only come in the dreams lately and then... there is still the loss when she wakes up. As if Miranda should be in her bed, but is not.

The “should be,” is ridiculous, she knows. She has no right or claim to the woman. She was a lowly peon and only ever that in Miranda's presence. 

But Andy aches for her so intensely sometimes that it takes her breath away. She read once, that there are chemical as well as physical reasons why a lover misses their companion. As she recalls, however, they had to at least have had meaningful physical contact. She can only dream of it. She was barely even touched by Miranda. She can count the times on the fingertips of one hand and finds it painful to realize that she still remembers those grazing moments in fine, utter clarity.

It is amazing how a fantasy can be built on the tiniest of moments.

Without the bonding of contact, this utter physical longing makes no sense to Andy. It’s not a mere inconvenience either and seems, rather than growing softer with time, to only be... expanding. 

She doesn’t like it. It’s not fun or thrilling, like in the romance novels. It’s painful and it’s distracting. She doesn’t like the sense of not being in control of her own fate, of needing someone who barely saw her as a person and of knowing it’s never going to happen, no matter how deeply she feels. For once, she gets why someone long ago used the word “crush,” to describe the longing one feels for an unrequited passion. She feels crushed and smashed by it sometimes. 

She is suddenly not interested in the news or her textbook and can’t stand being in the student union anymore. She slams the textbook closed and starts stuffing it in her bag. No one in the room takes any notice of her haste. Everyone is on the run at one point or another in college.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy’s exit from the room might have gone unnoticed, but she is spotted by Buffy as she hastens from the student union. It’s not the speed, it’s the body language, which causes a double-take. The slayer is used to seeing Andy serious, but never truly unhappy. It sparks curiosity.

Buffy follows the other woman, expecting her to either head to class or to the shop. Andy does neither. She leaves campus. Her long legs carry her far and fast. Buffy, who is shorter than average, only keeps up because she happens to be the slayer. Otherwise she would have been left in the dust, so to speak. 

She could catch completely up, but she leaves some distance. She knows how it is to sometimes need to think on one’s feet. Plus, she doesn’t know what the problem is. For all she knows it could be a bad test grade. It’s unlikely, but it could be. She’s seen some really bad grade-meltdowns before, including a few of her own.

Buffy knows, however, that Andy is extraordinarily smart. She thinks the writer may even be as smart as Willow, though in different ways. True intelligence is something that Buffy has come to find both attractive and important in another person. It means they can keep up with her, even if they are not necessarily physically on par. She can outpace so many people that she takes that sort of thing into account. That’s why she and Riley were as successful as they were, until he went all insecure and slightly misogynistic on her. He had no idea how much she worked to keep things compatible between them. She doesn’t regret the effort, but she does regret the loss. She did love him, even if everyone thought he was too Iowa corn-bread for her. But she knew why she was in the relationship and had no illusions. He was a respite from all the other forces out there, a normal guy that let her sometime be a normal girl. Until he wasn’t.

After about ten minutes, Buffy realizes that Andy has no destination in mind; at least not somewhere local to campus. The young woman just keeps walking, passing by a likely shady park and some possible store stops. She is also not heading in the direction that Willow has indicated as “toward” home. Buffy realizes then, that whatever it might be, Andy is too distracted to care where she is at. 

Mentally, she flips a coin and a decision is made. One thing tilts her favor. Andy is Dawn’s friend. Buffy picks up speed, and starts to catch up with the other woman.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy senses Buffy before she closes in on her. That’s a thing lately. The more she’s gotten to know the Scoobies, the more she can tell where they are in relation to her. She doesn’t know what that means. 

“So. Hi.” Buffy isn’t even breathless. One moment she’s not there and the next, she’s at Andy’s side. She keeps up, but the brunette slows down out of habit. Her mom is short like Buffy is short. She is always mindful of differences in pace when it comes to friend and family. 

Andy doesn’t necessarily want to reply, but she does out of courtesy. “Hi.” It’s brusque, holding just enough of a hint, that she hopes Buffy will catch. 

The blonde lets it slide, “You look like you could use some diversion.”

“Buffy,” Andy begins, intending to tell her that she already got the message that Buffy had no use for her. She never gets to that part.

“I’m going patrolling tonight. Nine o’clock. My house. Be there.”

Buffy stops walking then and by the time Andy turns around, she’s already made good headway back toward the campus. 

Andy slows to a stop and exhales tightly. Then she turns around too. This time she knows where she is going; home.


	4. Chapter 4

Jeremy loves his daughters with all that he is. They are a gift. Though he and Miranda never talked about it, he is well aware that they are not children of his body. They couldn’t possibly be, as he can not father a child. However, whatever flaws Miranda may have, he can not fault her generosity in this one great, amazing collaboration of theirs. He is a duck to water as a parent, as she is. And the more the girls grow, the more glad he is that they chose the civil route. He would not have been able to let the girls go, not even a little bit. As soon as they were placed in his arms, their tiny lives entwined with his and he dedicated his life to them; to guard and guide them and love them. It has been the greatest blessing of his long, long life. He can not imagine life without them now.

Though they look very much alike to the non-observant, he is very aware that Caroline and Cassidy are two different people, with their own needs, wants and motivations. They are mostly well dispositioned, but like many pre-teens they hover on the verge of their emotions. His most recent memories of real child-hood blow-outs stem from when they were tiny babies, when everything is larger and more confusing anyway. He is kind of looking forward to seeing them as teenagers and then as young women. He knows they will be extraordinary.

Because they are Miranda’s daughters, he knows they are of special origins. Neither have shown any overt emanations of power, but this does not preclude anything. They have yet to reach the point of maturity where such things normally display themselves. Like Miranda, he doesn’t care if they ever get powers or not. He just loves them for who they are. 

While Miranda is in Italy, as at other times, Caroline and Cassidy are staying with him. He does not live in New York any more, but he’s close enough that the drive to and from his ex-wife’s townhouse isn’t bad. He has his own place, a spacious two-story house with a fenced in back yard and a smoking security system. He has the best and then some; all very subtle of course. He doesn’t want to scare the neighbors. But, when it comes to protecting his family, he spares nothing. 

In the yard, remnants of the girls’ childhood exist, with a now defunct “club-house” and sundry toys. Caroline and Cassidy live and breathe where the electronic goods are now, indoors, playing video games with an enviable skill. He can barely keep up with pressing the buttons on the controllers. They make it look like magic. He makes an effort to get them outdoors at least semi-regularly. 

His second wife, Catherine, is also out of town. This was not an intentional gambit. She is giving a presentation at a technology conference. Before she left she presented it to himself and the girls, just for practice. They gave her wild applause and a boost to her confidence. He wishes Miranda would find someone again soon, someone better than Stephen, but it’s as if she’s been searching for and not finding something for awhile. 

He knows the feeling. He felt that way until Catherine. 

He misses his wife, but he’s glad to have the girls there with him. It works out well, from his point of view.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda is restless. She misses New York. She misses her children. Phone calls and emails just are not the same. She is confident in their care and happiness though. Jeremy is a good father. 

She’d probably feel a little less restless if the fare had been better on the runways. It’s not exactly lackluster, but she feels as this seasons’ artists simply aren’t applying themselves. They will have to focus on style over substance, to carry this off in the magazine; not a terrible burden, but still, one wants reasons to celebrate. 

Several more shows are ahead, so she is not prepared to give up just yet, but the mild frustration has her pacing her room like a panther in a cage. She plans to attend even more festivities tomorrow. She pauses at her window and glares at the bright noon sun. A day this beautiful ought to be shared with someone. Feeling a strong temptation, she glances back at her bed and then shakes the thought away. She doesn’t need to dream right now. She doesn’t need it and she has a lunch appointment. 

She wishes her inner argument sounded less like a petulant child and a touch more determined and worries, very briefly, about where her backbone has gone. A knock at her door let’s her know that it is time. The brief respite from hastening from one event to another is over. It is time to face the gauntlet again.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy does not know where this nest of vulture-faced demons came from, or even quite how Buffy knew they were there before she did, but as their mettle is being tested by these hulking creatures, she doesn’t exactly have time to speculate. At some point, she loses herself completely to the moment, falls into the dance of give and take. She hardly feels it when she is slammed against walls, the floor, solid objects of more or less permanent make. The creatures feel it more. 

It’s their own fault for leaving weapons where she can find them. She has escalated from hands to knife to a sword with a soft curve at the tip. It makes her feel slightly piratical. 

She is aware of Buffy at all times, aware that she is the center of this storm they have created. She whirls around the other young woman, a planet to her sun. Buffy wields an axe and lops with a skill born of instinct and long-term practice. She is smiling, just as Andy knows she must be smiling. She does note that Buffy is much more prone to taunting. 

Andy has yet to say a word. She appreciates the strategy, however. Incensed enemies are distracted enemies, of which there are plenty. 

A really big one starts pushing through, mayhem in its eyes, heading straight for Buffy. It will break Buffy’s concentration for sure. Andy considers what she has learned, what she has read. She incants, feels as if her tongue is filled with light and that light races down her arm, to the weapon in her hand. 

She doesn’t remember throwing it, but the creature stops as soon as the glowing sword meets its back. As if its startled scream is a signal, everyone pauses to watch it shake and split apart into avenues of light. The sword disappears, its magic and essence completely used. Then, the battle is redoubled.

Andy remains weaponless only a short time, but now she knows what can be done and she knows she will use magic again, but not the when. A creature throws a punch and she ducks to the ground, allowing her whole body to seem to fall. As she comes back up, she holds a crowbar that a fell creature has dropped. She wields it like a wickedly edged cane, not just as a bashing instrument. She hooks it into flesh to rend and tear, uses both ends. One would never know it was a handyman’s tool. In her hands, it is an instrument of pain and death.

She drops it when it becomes too slick to hold, but by that time, things are very much done. The ground beneath them is filled with rubble and bodies. It’s not just her hands that are covered and dripping in muck and blood, but her face, her hair, her clothes. 

Buffy is staring at her. Andy shivers under her gaze, which holds predatory awareness and something else that makes her ears buzz. The brunette should look away, but can’t. 

They both turn when metal slams, a door shutting. Andy tenses. 

“Let it go. It will warn off others,” Buffy says. “They’re not the worst kind. I just don’t want them in my backyard.”

“Oh,” murmurs Andy. “I...” She feels like she ought to explain herself, but honestly, she can’t. She can’t explain how she knows certain things. She can’t explain why she enjoys the fight so much. She was raised to be peaceful, raised just like everyone else. She knows this, but her dreams.... they are so real.

“Can you immolate? Like Willow?”

Andy blinks, needs clarification. “Pardon?”

Buffy waves her hand at the carnage. “It needs to be cleaned up. The evidence needs to be gone.”

“Oh.” Andy considers. She knows what immolate means. She knows what fire does to bodies. She cocks her head very far to the side and twists it as if avoiding the thought, the memory. She flashes on a vision of wings of fire at her back, of not having to see it, but of doing what needed doing. She blinks, returns to the moment, straightens. “I don’t know. Can I do something else? Something not involving fire and bodies.”

Buffy remembers that Andy eats the veggie pizzas. She thinks she understands. “If it works,” she says, accepting compromise. She feels no need to question whether Andy knows magic. It was now very apparent.

Andy nods, and thinks back, letting her thoughts find what she needs. She lifts her bloody hands, speaks words that were not in any textbook, but she thinks they were, because they had to have been. The words take on a form, a globe of blue light which expands, at first so slowly. Wind seems to kick up around them, blowing their hair and the clothes on their body, which smacks wetly around them. The globe expands, as Andy’s intentions become more focused. Then it explodes outwardly, blue and then white, so bright, so very, very bright. Neither thinks to cover their eyes.

Both Andy and Buffy are dazzled, and blink their way back into a regular vision. The bodies are gone. The rubble is gone. The ground where broken is mended. Their clothes, their bodies, are cleaned. Buffy touches her face where more than one punch had landed. She gazes at Andy with amazement. Andy smiles tightly, very briefly. 

Then she sways, crumples. 

Buffy catches her on the way down, before she hits the ground. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Buffy knows nightmare movements when she sees them. Andy’s prostrate form moves restlessly and her eyes are moving rapidly behind closed lids. She never makes a sound, though sometimes the slayer catches her in the motion of a scream. It’s eerie; as are the marks she sees crossing, arising and fading on Andy’s skin

The blonde is tempted to call Willow, to call Giles; to call someone. She barely has kept Dawn out of the room. 

She feels as if, whatever this is, must be her fault. So she solemnly watches over the other woman and waits, hopeful that this transition isn’t something wholly awful and that she won’t have to perform a terrible duty at the end. 

It turns out, she likes Andy. She likes her very much. This liking thing snuck up on her, took her by surprise, given how hard she resisted. Now she’s fearful that she should have kept on resisting. 

But she remembers that perfect globe of light, that amazing sensation of blissful wholeness that filled her, and healed scars that had stubbornly clung to her; some of them inward, she knew. She feels better than she has in a very long time. She really had no idea she’d been feeling so tired, so bruised. 

The grief of her mother’s loss, she knew, was a separate thing, but even then it felt eased and comforted.

Something that good could not come from someone bad. Buffy’s experience told her this, supported the theory. But that did not mean that whatever Andy was going through, becoming, wasn’t dangerous. 

And it was still Buffy’s fault that it was happening now. The slayer was pretty sure of it.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

When Andy’s eyes finally snap open, the pupils are outlined in a faintly glowing gold. She gasps for air as if she hasn’t been breathing, and folds into a sitting position as if roughly pulled. Her head swivels and she gazes in the direction where Buffy is at. Her motions are jerky, not quite fully there, nothing like the gracefulness that she held earlier. It takes a moment for the blonde to realize that Andy is still not quite awake, or even at all. She’s not sure about which it might be.

She shifts, ready to act. Andy looks around and then, flips the covers off. She’s still dressed, except for her shoes. Buffy did not feel comfortable with the idea of undressing the other woman. 

Andy stands, and at last, Buffy sees a hint of the normal fluidity of Andy’s. The girl walks toward the slayer’s closet, which is definitely not where one might expect her to go. When she gets there, she doesn’t open the door, but she turns and leans against the door frame. 

Then, like a bear, she begins to rub her back, scraping it back and forth, as if she has this huge itch. She shakes her head, and Buffy hears an actual growl escape her lips. Andy tugs at the edges of her shirt, then steps away. A few seconds later the shirt and the bra are on the ground and Andy is once more trying to get that itch. 

Buffy decides she can’t sit and do nothing. She doesn’t know if Andy can hear her in this state. She doesn’t know if she’s going to end up plowed against a wall because she moved too fast or something. She does know that Andy is suffering.

“Let me,” she says, as she draws closer. “Let me help.” Buffy raises her empty hands. She sees the young woman track them, track her. She sees her inhale, as if taking in Buffy’s scent. 

Andy says something then. Buffy has no idea what it is. But the young woman turns. 

It’s the first time the slayer has seen her back and it’s not what she expects. She can suddenly understand why Andy itches. The skin is coming off in hunks at the shoulder blades, but underneath, slightly red from that scratching, is what looks like... she wants to call it a tattoo, but Buffy knows it is not. 

They’re more marks, but they’re not fading. The blade handles, she knows. The other marks, they’re like hints of what might be. One could mistake them for ornamental rings, but Buffy has seen a lot of things in her short life. She can make an educated guess, because she knows what a cut wing looks like; she’s taken a few herself.

Expression grim, she steps forward and uses both hands, doing what Andy can not do for herself. She peels away the old flesh; gruesome job that it is. She does it without flinching and she does it quickly, because she knows it probably hurts. Andy presses her forehead against the door, and her fingernails dig into the wood. 

Now Buffy has no doubt at all about whether it hurt. 

Andy is shaking by the time it is done, and she’s definitely awake. Buffy trails her fingers up and down the shoulder blades and down a little of her back, making sure it’s all gone. “All done,” she says. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The only people Andy has ever told about her dreams are her parents. Buffy listens quietly, absorbing what the brunette says, putting together details from what she doesn’t say. They sit together on the bed, cross-legged, facing one another. It reminds both of times with their friends, when life was easier and they were younger. The writer finds Buffy’s silence comforting. When she’s done sharing the dream, the only thing the blonde says is, “Yeah, that sounds like a bad one alright.”

It’s such a comrade-in-arms statement that it warms Andy’s heart instantly. She says, “What does it look like now? My back?”

“Like you’re trying to grow wings.”

“Sometimes,” Andy says, “I think I am.” She feels tears at the edge of her eyes and draws in a deep breath to still them. “Sometimes I think they’re already there.” 

“Anya may be right then. I mean, though she won’t tell us what you are. She may be right that you are... something.”

“I’m not the one who questioned it. I just didn’t believe it.”

Buffy considers, nods. “I don’t think we should tell Giles.” 

“Don’t you normally?”

“Not everything. He doesn’t need to know everything that goes down. It scares him.”

“You protect him.”

“I protect everyone.” She bears the weight of the world and it is heavy sometimes. It shows in her eyes.

Andy considers, nods. “I get that.”

“You’ll be my slay-buddy now,” Buffy announces. “I think it may be better if I can watch you.”

Andy knows she doesn’t mean watch over. “Yeah. I think so too. Want me to leave?”

“No. I want you to move in.”

“Oh. I have a place. I bought and am paying for it.” She knows Buffy has to be aware, but feels obliged to remind her. Her home is her sanctuary. 

“Willow and Tara have been there. Maybe they could watch over it, while you’re here? You can have a guest room.”

“Maybe it’d be better if I stayed at home,” Andy says doubtfully. “I could be a danger to …” She glances at Buffy’s door meaningfully. 

Intentions do mean something to Buffy, and it weighs in Andy’s favor that she considers Dawn first. She doesn’t want to let Andy out of her sight, but the brunette would still need to take classes, still would do her normal things. Maybe it’s not fair to demand her constant presence. 

“You’ll tell me if anything changes?” It is not a request, though Buffy makes it sound like one.

“I will.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Later, at her house, Andy takes another picture of her back. She now has an ongoing record. She blinks and realizes she has someone to send the pictures to. She types a quick note, then in deliberate succession, sends each photo she’s taken to Buffy. It’s both an act of trust and a recognition of what is between them now. If strangers should see, all they’ll note is odd tattoos; growing marks, as if Andy constantly changes her mind.

But strangers won’t see. The brunette is confident. Buffy is a woman of her word.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Days pass normally. Andy has more nightmares, but not wing inducing ones. They are, unfortunately, not balanced out with Miranda dreams. For some reason, she hasn’t had any recently; which is odd in its own way. She usually has at least one a week, at the very least. Andy ponders whether she should worry, but then considers that maybe the fighting has been helping. Maybe all those feelings are being vented at last. She tells herself that must be the case, but when she thinks too much on the topic, the ache is still there. She just finds herself assigning a different meaning to it.

She has been out slaying with Buffy every night; sometimes vampires and sometimes other things. When they go out after other things, Buffy now calls on Willow and Tara for the clean up. She doesn’t need to explain why to Andy. The writer accepts it without criticism.

She does not point out what she considers might be the flaw in Buffy’s plan. What if the fighting is what is causing the change? She doesn’t mention it, because she wants to get to the end of it now. She doesn’t want to get hung in the middle, unfinished. So she keeps her mouth shut and her expression willing.

Her one complaint is that the fighting is breaking into her writing time, but she heard that exercise is actually good for creativity. She does an article on that and feels as if her mojo returns, so she forgives the night for being busy at Sunnydale. Certainly, in many ways she’s been busier. She keeps up with her classes, still studies the books at the Magic Box, and finds time to slay. Her time with Miranda, however, was just as, if not more, busy. She knows what it is to live on the run.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda has not slept since Italy. One would think the extra time would smooth out her days, but it’s only sharpened them. She’s lost yet another assistant to the axe of ineptitude and general crankiness. 

Miranda’s original plan to enjoy the dreams was hijacked by the need to pay attention to the nibbles at her power. Not-Irv has begun to sound like Irv, speaking of money as if she were wildly spending, which she does not. Because he insists on verbally jousting over the topic, she has taken to calling him by his predecessor’s name. He does not like it and she senses he will escalate. She is prepared to take it higher if necessary, but has other things to distract her. 

Something has been testing the barriers of her home. It was apparently rather forceful while she is away. Examination hints at a power, but not necessarily a local one, which is a puzzle. 

Miranda does like puzzles, just not when they involve her girls. 

Investigation has been not entirely fruitless. Roy is efficient and discovered a questionable sort tailing them. It was rat-like creature, speaking of the coming of Glory and the need for alliance. Miranda is not interested in alliance with a stranger. She has allies and enemies enough, she thinks. The rat-man is sent home. Her agency put on alert not to let it back.

At work things run at their normal hectic pace. She still owns the respect of her people, and the fashion world follows her slavishly. She taps into it a little, shoring up the edges that have frayed. 

She wants to sleep. She wants to dream of Andrea. 

If Emily, Nigel or Serena knew what was causing the teeth of Miranda’s soul to bare and bite so constantly, they’d drug her coffee and grant her wish. Or at least try to...

They’re devoted that way.

Somehow, that thought, makes things a little easier. She’s nicer to them during the next run through. Everyone else, however, feels the slice of her sword-sharp tongue.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

For the first time since they’ve known each other, which on the scale of things is admittedly not long, Buffy visits Andy’s home. As soon as she steps on the sidewalk, her inner slayer relaxes. It is the oddest sensation and she immediately steps off the sidewalk and back on the street. 

Willow and Tara stop when they realize that Buffy is no longer with them. They turn to look at their friend. Buffy is obviously unnerved. 

“Buff?” Willow checks.

“What... what just happened?”

They stare at her, mystified and then Tara shifts. “Oh! Right.” She moves then, and reaches out, extending her hand. “It’s sacred ground. It’s supposed to feel this way.”

“But... I thought only churches and cemeteries...”

“Well, and some houses,” Willow says. 

“And groves.”

“Or, like here, houses and groves. We have a ceremonial space,” the redhead grins. “Andy helped us make it.”

Buffy takes Tara’s hand then and lets herself be brought back and the feeling settles over her again, like a cloak. “Weird.”

“But good,” Willow emphasized. “Very good. As in, very, very...”

“I get the point Wills.” Buffy is getting more than that, she’s adding to a mental tally. But it’s shaking her a little. She’s heard of certain kinds of beings, but they don’t exist. Not on this world. Never on this world. She knows this as absolutely as she knows that vampires exists. But the tally, it keeps growing.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy is shocked to see Buffy with Willow and Tara, but she’s still cordial, friendly. She opens the door, silently inviting them in. She watches Buffy with careful eyes, but the young woman’s expression is just as carefully neutral. 

“Hey,” Willow says. “We brought chocolate.” She lifts a small basket. “Thought you could use some.”

Andy grins suddenly, “You thought right!” 

The ice breaks then, and she and Willow begin talking, picking up from where they left off last time. Buffy’s head moves and forth, until she stops herself so she won’t get dizzy. She leans toward Tara, “Is it like this all the time?”

She smiles at the pair indulgently. “They’re kindred spirits.”

“I thought you and Willow were...”

“We are. But different. I like to listen to them. It can be very educational.” Tara, who hasn’t let go of Buffy’s hand yet, leads the blonde further into the serene home. Buffy glances around and notes that the decor is simple, but pleasant. It’s not a filled house yet, Andy hasn’t been around that long. The seats in the frontroom are mismatched, but comfortable. Tara leads her to one and only then lets Buffy go. She takes one to the side, while Willow and Andy gravitate toward the couch. 

Theoretical is not normally Buffy’s gig, but she remembers the comfort of listening to Willow on a tear where an idea is concerned. 

It’s like that. Doubled.

And it’s just as comforting. Tara and Buffy participate, posting out ideas of their own, but it’s Willow and Andy who run with it and twirl it into something more. It’s like being in a room with fluffy mad scientists. Or maybe just mad magic users. Fluffy either way, and cotton candy quantum physics and tangents listening. 

Hours pass. They have dinner and the chocolate. Tara and Willow explain why they’ve asked Buffy to join them today. “We need a fourth. And we needed, actually, the head of the household.”

“What are you doing?” 

“A protection spell for Casa Summers,” Willow explains. “We need something stronger to protect you and Dawn.”

“From Glory.” Buffy’s brows nearly come together as she growls low in her chest. Andy blinks, but Willow and Tara feign not to notice. 

“Well, and any baddy.”

“Will it keep her out?” Buffy still stings from the invasion of her home and privacy. She’d much rather Glory is poofed back to where she came from, but barring that, just keeping her out of the house would be a very good thing.

“Yes.” Willow says.

“We think.” Tara adds.

“We’ll know after midnight,” Andy says. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They meet together in the “grove,” wearing flip flops and robes. They are slightly shy with each other, but skyclad is part of the formula and they are all dedicated to the idea of protecting Dawn. It’s not even in question. The unity of purpose will make a difference in the effectiveness of the spell. 

Willow and Tara have already lined out the ingredients and the circle is one that is permanently in place. It’s a matter of stepping into it.


	5. Chapter 5

It is like stepping into pure power. Andy hears herself shuddering an orgasmic, “Oh.”

“I know. Right?” Willow says, her expression gleeful. 

“This is how it is supposed to feel,” Tara says, just to be reassuring. 

“It is?” Buffy feels the tingle all the way through her body. Her inner slayer is practically rolling in it, like catnip. 

“What have you been doing?” Andy exclaims. “I mean, I realize I haven’t really visited since we set the stones, but... ladies...”

Willow grins and looks at Tara. “We’ve been amplifying what is naturally here and what you’ve been doing.”

“What I’ve been doing.” Andy glances around, and wonders if she should mention that she hadn’t been doing anything specifically magical, except for when she was out battling with Buffy and then, only sparingly. She decides silence is the better idea and smiles without surety.

They become the corners, taking position and extending their arms so their fingertips are flexed toward the ground, but they aren’t touching. As each takes their place, the energy seems to thrum even more. This time it is Willow who hushes out a respectful, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” says Buffy. She looks at the tiny little house statue in the middle of the circle. Willow has chalked the map of the area they want to protect around the tiny object along with some sigils. It’s all about the symbolism. Buffy just hopes it will work.

“Ready?” Tara asks. She will be leading the chant and she checks with each young woman, looking them directly and clearly. When it comes to magic she always has confidence. It is something she knows well. Once she has the answers, she begins the invocation. 

The form of the spell is worked in a round, like ‘row, row, your boat.’ Everyone has memorized the lines previously, and understands that they must not lose their place. For this to work correctly it must be an “eternal” round, a full complete set uttered in tandem over a particular number of times. It goes like this, Tara, Willow, Buffy, Andy. Their voices layer on top of one another, blanket the syllables and the magical energy together in folds. The spell is, from a mystical point of view, literally woven together, 

They are caught up in the chant, watching each other without watching, seeing without seeing. Sparks of energy flicker between their hands, scurry along their bodies and hair. Mystical wind kicks up around them. The intonation deepens, as the magic transforms their voices, echoes inside them and outside of them. Every time the round kicks by Andy, it picks up speed and depth, becomes something more. They all glow, but the center, where the house exists in their thoughts and in the symbol, glows all the brighter.

The sound of each other’s voices fill their heads, the intonation, the inflections. Magic with another is an act of intimacy, of trust. Familiarity is unavoidable; as is revelation. They learn things about each other that would not otherwise be known; aches and pains and joys and love and failures and successes and the who that they are, the what that they are. The potential in each rolls, strings through them. The chant changes at the end, as it must. Each woman puts a unique spin on the spell, twirling the energy like a top. 

In the center, the bubble of light has been churning and expanding; like a great globe, above and below the symbolic house. The globe rises, taking with it, the house and the map. It hovers like a hologram, held in blue and white light. 

The chant is closing, changing them. Their expressions are intent, their will is one. They fold into it, are bent into a new form. The shield expands and then expands again. Behind Andy’s back the light forms outlines of a pair of wings. She grabs Tara’s hand just before the young woman makes the final call, grips it tightly. Energy slams through the contact and the Divinity within Tara responds to the contact, rises. Claims its rightful place. Tara is awakened and called forth. Her body, already beautiful, becomes more so. Her voice slides over them like honey. They respond to the sensation with unavoidable pleasure and earthiness. 

She reaches for Willow as she lays down the last line, voice deep and booming and commanding. The Power in Willow, which for so long has gone denied and repressed, suddenly is pulled forth and driven to rise. Her eyes transform, running first a terrible dark and then, just as startling, an amazing white, before suddenly bursting into golden green. Her transformation shakes through them all. Her hand snaps out and she grasps Buffy’s hand. 

The story of the slayer is a long and tortured one; brutalized into existence, the essence of the slayer was built from pain and anguish. The essence of power from a dark beginning was thrust into the first slayer and then passed on and on through thousands of girls and millennia. Buffy is the one of the few to have lived past her teens, for a multitude of reasons. The most important is that it is not just the slayer that makes her strong. She is the one who comes back. She has been dead and has risen. The slayer in her was already transformed, already becoming something more. It howls in her, rises at first to the power, then writhes to the pain of Willow’s contact, and then transforms again and it is a deep, powerful blending and pleasure. The slayer becomes more than just slayer, more than the primitive impulse. It blends with her, as it should have been done; no longer a foreign bone-deep thing, but something more. Buffy’s inner predator purrs, is soothed, is empowered. She sees in the dark and the light. She grins and her canines are a little longer, her teeth a little sharper. 

Buffy grabs Andy’s hand tight and the energy makes a leap, flings itself along the young woman’s skin and penetrates. Marks of light roll all over her body. The outline at her back flashes and brighten, as if a battery has suddenly been applied. They become more than outlines, but wings of light. The brunette’s voice lifts, booms. Her eyes flash golden amber. Her swords appear; not in her hand, but at her back. They lift and float and move until they hover just outside of the globe. She takes up the final words of the chant, finishes it and then additional words, unbidden, but true, slide from her tongue; a command of full effect. The swords cross, thrusting through the protective symbolic shield and everything goes bright. Everything around them, in them, through them. It explodes outward and upward. 

They collapse at the force of it, are dropped like stones to the ground. Their world alters and shakes, inside and out. They are still holding hands through the whole of it.

The magic, like a beam, rolls up and over and then arcs down, slamming with powerful force into place. Creatures of the night that had been skulking about are decimated instantly. The house, which was still being repaired, suddenly rights itself; every broken beam, window, part is suddenly fixed. Every part of the ground that was shattered is healed. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda has no idea what has just happened, but is now back in her chair, holding tightly to the edge of her desk as an echo of a wave of power and pleasure finishes shivering through her. She doesn’t know the how or the why, she only knows a part of the who. Andrea. This time she is very sure, because it tasted of the Andrea of her dreams. 

“What have you been doing?” Miranda whispers into an empty office. She is suddenly grateful that she decided to stop by for a last minute check on one of their bigger projects. And that it is night. Light in her office would merely be taken as light, but if it had happened during the day...

The editor shivers with something that is very much an afterglow. It’s not sex, but it’s the next nearest thing. She feels silly for even asking the question. She knows exactly what her Andrea has been dabbling in.

But it’s so powerful. So.... strikingly powerful and she instantly worries for the girl, because an expression of magic like that is like a gong to some. She closes her eyes, traces back the thread of the happening. 

Out west. She fine tunes. “California,” she whispers and then nods. It’s too sunshine state for her, but it has some good qualities. She considers the most recent article she’s read by Andrea. The idea of the state matches her impression of the article. She narrows it down to a surrounding area, but then something supernatural and dark throws her off. The block annoys her greatly, but it almost answers the puzzle of why Andrea might be casting spells.

She pulls her phone and flips it open, dials. “Emily,” she says to the tired second assistant who was just aching seconds away from sleep, “Arrange an immediate flight to Los Angeles. See that everything is taken care of.” 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Buffy wakes first. Her eyes snap open and she is instantly alert. She rolls to her feet in one smooth motion. She looks around, taking in everything. The model house is gone, as is the chalked drawing. The ground where it lay is pulsing with a white light that is glassed over. She steps closer, crouches and lays her palm over it. It’s lightly warm, but not hot. Her palm thrums with its power though. 

She thinks of her …

Her mind pauses as she tries to find a right word. She settles on friends, though they are definitely much more than that, and though the word is not closest, it is safest. For the moment. 

She feels an urgency, but no hurry. In the past, she would have found the dichotomy irritating, but she is in right place, right time for the now. She doesn’t need to rush, only to wait. 

She moves, stops by each of the others. She can hear their heartbeats, is reassured by the sound. She also hears, in the house, the sound of cellphones going off. 

Buffy rolls her eyes. She can guess who is calling. However, she has no intention of leaving the others alone in this state, even in this protected space. The Scoobies will have to worry just a little longer. 

She feels one of them waking and moves to kneel beside her. 

Willow opens her eyes. The green was always there, but the gold now rims her pupils and outlines the green. The first words out of her mouth, even as she takes Buffy’s hand to let herself be lifted up, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Buffy does not say the answer she had ready from long ago, the fib. She says, now, “You were with someone else. And I was too. I take relationships seriously. And remember the Xander badness and Cordelia telling us about her wish? I do.”

“Well. There is that.” Willow concedes. “But Tara and I, we’ve had some long talks, because, you know, some magic requires ...”

Buffy grins and presses her fingertips to Willow’s lips, “You don’t have to explain. We had the conversation, remember?”

It wasn’t quite conversation, given that it was more a case of information overload, but Willow remembers and the understanding is conveyed. She wants to ask, ‘what now?’ but holds off. She is not sure that any of them will really know, only that she is glad that she understands Buffy’s motivations more. She cocks her head. Unlike Buffy, she doesn’t hear the phone, she senses their friends’ increasing worry as no one can be reached. She rolls her eyes.

Buffy says, “I know. Right.”

“Any time there’s a little magical kerfuffle, the hysteria starts,” Willow grouses. She has no desire to be lectured by Giles. She knows magic is serious business, but magic is what she is. It’s what she has always been. 

Buffy pats her shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. But maybe we should answer at least one of them. I’ll go see if Dawn’s called. She’s the one who needs to know the most anyway.”

“You can have her go home or come here. Either one will work now.”

“Yeah. I want her out of the magic shop now that she has better places to be.”

“You’re a good sister.”

Buffy offers a brief, toothy smile. Willow just smiles back, and takes up the guard position for awhile.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Tara wakes up, rises in a twisting motion to grab Willow’s face between her hands. The kiss that follows is warm and slow. Her eyes open when they part and are green and dark blue with the blue toward the pupil. It now looks as if her eyes are constantly wide and deep, like there ought to be stars in them and maybe if one looks long enough, one will see them and the universe. “Hi,” she breathes. 

“Hi back,” Willow says. She gently pulls her lover to her feet. “Do you feel like you?”

“Yes.” Tara nods and gives the redhead a rueful grin. “I did not expect that.”

“None of us did.”

They look into each others eyes a little longer, seeking and finding. Then their attention turns to Andy. They move to kneel beside her, Willow on one side and Tara on the other. Both have a touch of awe on their faces. The wings are gone, but they know what it meant, they know what Andy is. “They don’t exist.”

“In other places, other realities, they do.” Tara says firmly. After all, they all saw.

“Legend. Myth.” Willow can sometimes be single minded. 

“They have existed before. Here, I mean.”

“Yeah, but only to visit.”

“No. That’s just the stories. No. This one lives here. Which means others may have.”

“Unfair, using reason.” 

“Never claimed to be fair.” Tara smiles then, impishly. Everyone thinks she’s always the wonderful one, but she has her naughty, dangerous side too. Willow is one of a handful who really understands this about her. It’s part of the appeal. Especially now. She extends her hand and the redhead threads her fingers through hers. It forms a bridge of connection over Andy. 

Buffy returns. “She still sleeps.”

“She has much to recover from.”

Buffy kneels then, at Andy’s head, moves and, then, bending over lays her lips on the brunette’s. It’s bold, but then, the blonde is feeling very bold. She takes Andy’s face in her hands, and whispers against the writer’s lips, “Wake up.”

Andy wakes, jerked from a dream of long ago, speaking, “... ioso shy’dare nerit....” The sound is that of a demand. Her lips are captured in another kiss before she can say more. She reaches up, wraps her hand in Buffy’s hair and she kisses back, before she can really think about it. 

The younger woman finally draws away and stares down into luminous amber-brown eyes. “Back now?”

Andy nods, feeling slightly speechless, trying to remember English as a form on her tongue. 

Buffy offers her a smile, still framed slightly upside down for Andy, but there. “Everyone is going to the house, but Giles is swinging by here. We should probably get dressed.”

“Why is he...” Andy articulates, a little dismayed. 

“Giles has not always had good experiences with magic. He is leery of it.” Willow says.

“He summoned a demon. Of course, he’s leery of it,” Tara’s expression is grim. 

“Still... he is our friend and is only concerned.”

“I vote we get dressed,” interjected Andy. “I don’t know him well enough to be naked around him.”

“And he’s too much of a ‘Dad figure’ to be comfortable with it.”

That pretty much settles the conversation.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They wait outside, fully dressed and jacketed. Their body language is relaxed as they chat and wait. The conversation reflects school and the mall. Buffy is dismayed that Andy has never been to Sunnydale’s premiere shopping center. She leans against Willow, back to the redhead’s front. Willow’s arms are securely around her. Buffy’s hands gesture with her words. “Sure, it has a ghost or three, but even with the occasional vamp, it’s worth the visit. You’ll come with me sometime and we’ll make a day of it.”

“Okay,” Andy says. Tara’s arm is around her waist. A couple of fingers are hooked into the belt-loops of Andy’s jeans. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done serious shopping.”

“Which almost makes this trip mandatory,” Buffy says. She cocks her head then, and listens, “Here he comes.”

It doesn’t occur to any of them to change their positions or alter their body language. They fall back into talking. When the car draws to the sidewalk, their attentions all turn at once. It would be spooky, if he’d been paying attention to it. He was busy putting his car in park, however. 

He starts to get out of the car, but by then they’ve arrived where he is at. “Thanks for the ride, Giles,” Buffy says as she slides into shotgun. Willow opens the door to the passenger, driver’s side, while Tara opens the other one. Andy slides in and takes the middle. The other two women finish boarding the car and Giles is left standing and slightly disoriented.

Ten seconds later, Buffy can be heard, “Are we going? I want to check on Dawn.” Giles finally manages to shake his attention back and gets in, ready to drive.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“Ooh. The streetlights are fixed!” Willow exclaims excitedly. In any other city this would not necessarily be an occasion for celebration, but sometimes, when a Sunnydale lamp goes out, it’s forever. These lights, however are bright and their span wide. Tara and Buffy share a look and a slight nod. Andy peeks over on Willow’s side, glancing up. 

The lights are just outside the demarcation of their spell, but it’s obvious that it has had an effect on surrounding areas. Andy sits back, not wanting to crush Willow, at least not in a public space. “Nice,” she offers. 

“More than nice. About time,” The redhead grins at Andy and then leans back against her. “We got lights.”

“Indeed, it is good to see the city services finally getting around to their job,” Giles offers; just before the car slides into the protected zone.

He is a sensitive. He knows magic. He did not feel this one coming. 

“Sanctuary,” he whispers, suddenly understanding. 

“Sanctuary,” confirms Buffy. “To keep Dawn and our friends safe. Keep driving Giles. Get us home.” She says that, because she knows him, knows he will either want to stop the car and get out and look or stop the car and get out and lecture. She wants to go home.

Giles feels the order behind the words. It’s no mere suggestion, and it is close to a compulsion to obey. He thinks he could resist, but he wants to see too, so does not. The streetlights are even brighter and their effect wider in this newly consecrated space. It is church quiet, or so it seems, even with the car growling its way down the street. 

By the time he parks, he has forgotten to be upset or anguished or discomfited by Buffy’s new apparent confidence. He doesn’t even remark on the condition of the house as they enter. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Dawn rushes at her sister, taking her in a huge hug. “You got the house fixed!”

Buffy grunts, even though her sister’s hugs are hardly harsh. It’s just fun to tease. She returns the hug, much more gently, because she is always aware of her slayer strength. There was a time when she broke plates because she couldn’t control the press of a fork. She’s learned a lot about moderating her physical aspects since then. “Sure did,” she says. “With some help. Do you like?”

“Oh yeah. It’s perfect,” Dawn exclaims. She takes her sister’s hand and drags her further into the house; allowing the others to enter. “Even Anya said so.”

“Well, that’s something then,” Buffy glances up and catches Tara’s eyes and they share a brief look of amusement. They know that Xander and Giles might not notice, since they can choose to be oblivious if they want, but Anya; she’s going to know something has changed. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Too hyped to sleep?” the girl offers hopefully.

“Dawn. Twenty minutes and then, it’s time for you to knock out, okay?”

“Okay.”

It turns out, however, that Anya is enjoying a bowl of ice cream and watching the newly repaired widescreen tv too much to really get a good look at them. As they gather in the front room, Anya glances at them and says, “I don’t know how you did it, but I’m glad I’m not a demon any more, for once. Regret right out the window, because I really would have missed this.” She lifts up the spoon and waves it. “Beautiful job ladies. Very impressive. Who knew you had it in you.” She goes back to eating and watching her show. 

Xander smiles up at them from his seat between Anya’s feet. “I knew you did, or at least were going to, so thumbs up.” He lifts a thumb in their direction and then steels a bite that Anya has offered. 

Andy takes a seat on the couch and Tara slides in beside her. Andy wraps an arm around her shoulder and she snuggles in unselfconsciously. Willow comes in soon after, with a snackbowl, which she hands to Tara, who holds it, while the redhead situates herself so she’s leaning on the arm of the couch, but her legs are over the leggy blonde. Then she retrieves the bowl, though it’s going to be shared between them all and smiles winsomely. 

Giles comes in, talking to Buffy, “Yes, well, obviously it was effective, but it had to be dangerous. You should have told me. There could be serious consequences still. An emanation of that magnitude...”

“Giles,” Buffy starts patiently, then she looks at the women on the couch and decides she is done justifying or arguing. “Next time we might and you’re probably right. But I don’t want to worry about it now.” That’s as good as he’ll get. She rapidly paces away from him, leaving him talking, and having decided where she wants to be. 

She stands in front of Tara and Andy, winks at Willow and then turns to the other two and says, “Hi.” 

That’s all the notice they get, before Buffy slides onto Andy’s lap and makes herself comfortable. Andy’s free hand wraps around her middle, comforting and strong. “So,” the slayer exhales, “What are we watching?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

By the time movie is done, Dawn is in bed, Giles, Anya and Xander have made their exit and the four women are in various states of semi-sleepful-wakefulness. It has, after all, been a long night. They just happen to be reluctant to part just yet. 

Over the course of the past couple of hours, they have moved, but in general, they’ve stayed close to one another, holding or leaning against. Subtle caresses have been involved; hands on the thighs, hands on hands, fingers through hair. So far, they have managed to avoid kissing, but that impulse has been gradually growing stronger in them as their wakeful inhibitions have started to be compromised by their sleepful non-inhibition.

“Bedtime,” whispers Willow. “We should definitely go to bed.”

“Not a bed big enough,” Buffy says. Then her eyes widen at what she said out loud, “I mean... guest rooms. We have...”

Tara reaches and pulls the smaller blonde closer, then grasps her by the top of her shirt. At another time it might have been a threatening gesture, but her hold is between two fingertips and her expression is impish. “We know what you meant,” she says, before leaning forward and doing what she’s wanted to do since before Giles arrived. The kiss is soft, pressing and lingering. By the time Tara lets go, they’re both smiling and worries have been soothed. 

“That’s good, very good,” Willow says with affection, “But I was thinking more along the lines of actual sleep.”

Buffy is still blinking, “Then guest rooms. Definitely, but I want kisses first. Payment.”

“You’ve never demanded payment before,” Willow fake protests, but she’s already leaning over Tara to reach Buffy.

“New fresh house, new rules.” This time it is the slayer who pulls someone close. Despite years and years of pent up feelings, the kiss is still gentle and their long-standing affection carries through it, warming the experience. 

Willow pulls back, her eyes alight. 

Buffy touches her face, her expression serious though her gaze also carries joy. She has been a long time wanting. It was worth the wait.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It is natural that Willow and Tara share a room. They always do when they stay over. Andy offers to stay on the couch. 

“We have...” Buffy begins to offer.

“I just want a nap, not really sleep,” Andy says. “And...” Now this isn’t something she quite knows how to express, but if she’s going to be alone on a reclining surface, she wants to have a justifiable reason for it. Otherwise, she knows, she can already tell, she’ll go searching. 

Then again, “No. That’s not true,” the brunette says with sudden clarity. “I have no desire to sleep in a guest room without one of you with me. It’s one thing at home, where habit will carry me, but here... I’d rather have the couch if I’m going to have to sleep alone.” There. She said it. Truth. 

Buffy’s expression of understanding is an exhale. Then she reaches out, extends a hand. Andy takes it. Without another word between them, the slayer leads her up the stairs and through the hall and then to a specific room. Buffy opens the door to her room and draws Andy in, pulls her close. “Just sleep?”

Andy looks down, and offers payment, soft and sweet, until the kiss aches in them. “Yes,” she says. “It’s been a long day for you.” Except for that moment of unconsciousness, she doesn’t think Buffy has slept since the night before. The slayer compensates, but the magic was potent. Rest would be good, even with the sizzle of energy that is still there, hinting at possibilities.

“Okay,” Buffy says. Apparently, though, she intends to make it a challenge. She pulls away and in swift motions strips down. Her body is trim, sleek with strength. Andy admired before, but now her eyes take in what she sees with an enhanced appreciation. Buffy tosses a look at her, both a taunt and surrender. She stalks to the bed and lifts the covers, slides in. 

Andy briefly considers rushing back downstairs to the couch, then she kicks off her shoes. She is less graceful in the disposition of her clothes, which are flung off, rather than dropped. Buffy watches with an amused smirk. Andy clarifies, “Still just sleeping,” even as divests the final piece. 

Buffy says, “I’m not arguing.” Then her expression lightens as Andy approaches. She holds the covers open, lifting and revealing, “I’m just looking forward to the holding.”

Andy sits, then slides in, feeling the heat of the slayer’s body near hers. The heat becomes much more solid as the covers drop and Buffy presses against her. It’s as if her skin were hungry for the contact, but while the tension is there, so is an amazing comfort. She pulls Buffy in close, and the younger woman wraps an arm around her. 

She lifts slightly and Andy presses forward. The kiss heats and she feels tingles everywhere, but they still manage to pull away. Buffy sighs and lays her head in the crook of Andy’s shoulder. The writer closes her eyes.

Now she can sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda’s eyes closed during the flight. Her intention was just to have a moment of quiet, but she’s on a soft reclining surface and no other demands are before her. She actually falls asleep.

Her dreams are like anyone else’s, a time for the mind to clear itself, process and store the memories. Her mind simply does it faster and more completely. When done with the processing then other things are possible in the dreaming. She has much to work through, as it has been weeks since she’s rested, but part of what she’s working through is the call of Andrea. And for once, she falls instantly and firstly into a particular dreamscape.

Location usually varies in her dreams of Andrea, but this time she feels a new solidity to the dream. She approaches a door, deeply embedded into a wall, an object that has never been between them before. Beside the door is a guardian, a mere child. Her eyes glow green and she is lean in physique, in a growing stage. “Behind this door is something new,” she states. “Andy’s world is changed. Go through and yours will be also. It could not remain the same.”

“What has happened?” the goddess asked. “What happened to my Andrea?”

“Necessary things.” The child stands to the side. “You are at a point of choice. Claim what is within. Or do not.” She is not unkind in the saying of it. “You can still turn away, but you know what will happen if you do.” The girl lifts a pair of silver scissors. They glint dangerously. 

Miranda could claim that was no threat, but as she has refused, up to this moment to do the very thing that the girl is hinting at, she can not. 

Time does have meaning in dreams, though it is sometimes vague. Miranda deliberately faces the door so the guard will not make an assumption of rejection, but she also does not hurry. When a goddess dreams of doors, the potential is often of great magnitude, one way or the other. It requires at least a form of contemplation before choosing. 

Miranda knows she can not attempt a peek at the future in the dream. It would be read as leaving. She can only base her decision on what she knows already. Memory is permitted, but not as an escape. It must not seem that she enters the past. So she intends to summon it forward, to replay both the good and the bad. 

She does not understand, then, how it is her hand has come to be on the doorknob so abruptly, without that replay or the deliberation she intended. She glances at the girl. “Who is she that she is so compelling to me? She’s just another girl. I have seen so many in my life, exactly like her.” And those other brown-eyed, brown-haired girls, she realizes now, had been the test and the evidence. 

The child does not reply. She folds her arms, with the scissors glinting with portent. Miranda, however, no longer needs the warning. She knows the difference. Andrea is unique, has always been unique and whether she is ‘just a girl,’ has no bearing. She is her Andrea. 

“I see,” she whispers. She turns the handle, then, and pushes the door open. She glances at the girl one more time. This time she is smiling, widely. The scissors are gone and her hands are empty.

“See you soon,” the girl says. 

Miranda arches a brow, but doesn’t question the comment. Soon on a dream level is as vague as time. 

She steps through the doorway and into brightness.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda is greeted by an ecstatic gut-deep cry of pleasure. She has come to know that voice, intimately. She has made some effort to keep the separation of dream-Andrea from real-Andrea, but now she more than suspects that this cry is exactly as it sounds and exactly who it is. It shivers through her, makes her instantly crave. 

She strides forward into the bright, confidence in every step, until she steps into a plain “white” room. The room not really white, but rather, the formed of the essence of light. Miranda does not stumble, but her halt is an expression of shock. 

Four nude women are in the room, where she expected only one. They are all very still, as if time has stopped in the dream so Miranda can catch up. At the center of the room is a very large bed, expansive and made of the same stuff as the room, yet somehow made softer. Andrea is on her back, on the bed, body arched and paused in that moment of profound pleasure. Between her legs, kneeling, heels to buttocks, is a small, tan, blonde. She is beautiful, well formed, sleek. She is obviously touching the brunette intimately. On one side of Andrea is another blonde, taller but just as beautiful, but rounder, like a woman of the earth. She is capturing the cry with her lips. On the other side is a redhead, also petite, slightly freckled. It is redundant to call her beautiful, as it is apparent that all of them are, each uniquely so. The redhead’s hands are on Andrea too, but she is kissing the small blonde. 

Miranda can’t take it in rationally. This is not what she expected at all. She feels a curl of fear and anger wrap around her spine. She strides forward, “What is this!” 

It’s not that time picks up, but rather, the heads of all the women have turned. Without actually turning. They face her now, still in the same basic position, but rather with their attention fully on herself. 

What confuses Miranda is Andrea’s expression, which is still ecstatic. “Andrea, explain yourself!” she demands, even though she knows it is likely that her dream-aspect can not. Miranda draws closer to the bed, propelled forward, but can not understand why she hasn’t reached it yet. 

The small blonde moves, slowly, but in panther-like grace and power. Her eyes glint dangerously. Miranda watches she handsprings off the bed, arcing high and then landing in a crouch, a wild thing in front of her. She hears the growl. It comes from three of the women. Andrea’s arms are outstretched toward her.

The blonde stands, fierce and protective. Her lips form a snarl, and steps forward, moving into Miranda’s space. The editor won’t be backed, she steps forward too, intending confrontation. 

But by the time she gets there, the blonde’s head is cocked, as if taking a second look or recognizing her. Her nostrils are flared and her eyes are bright. The young woman, wildness still of her essence, scans the editor, up and down. Miranda knows that look as she’s certainly done the same. “Prada,” the young woman begins, then she names what Miranda is wearing with an astonishing expertise. With each name, she steps closer, until they are touching, and the young woman’s fingertips are drawing along the editor’s collar. Then she grips it, dragging Miranda dangerously close to a sharp looking smile. They are staring in each other’s eyes, sky blue into forest dark.

“I know you.” She says. “You are Miranda Priestly.” The blonde leans forward and inhales deeply. “And something more.” She glances back at the others, then back at Miranda once more. “How did you get here?”

“I opened the door.” She points at Andrea, “She is my...” She has no idea what she is going to say, as she vaguely remembers that she has no claim on the girl. Just the desire to keep dreaming of her, to be near her, to be more.

“... ours,” the blonde says. “She is ours.”

“If you are here,” says the red head, who seems to have come from out of nowhere, “then it is for a reason.” She stands to Miranda’s side, arms behind her back and gazing at her with a frank, intelligent awareness. “I think you are here for the same reason we are.”

“She is ours,” says the taller blonde. The inflection of the word she tells Miranda that this one is not speaking of Andrea, but of herself. 

“Impossible,”says the first blonde.

“Unlikely,” corrects the redhead, “but not impossible. More like, improbable. However, our lover is rarely mistaken in these things. It is wise to listen to her.”

The little blonde has not let go of Miranda’s collar and is definitely scenting along her neck. She feels a sharp nip, which brings her attention back. The blonde says what she has been thinking, “the correct word is mate, but we call each other friends in front of strangers and the Scoobies. Companion would be closer, but they don’t know yet. We haven’t told them.”

The words are sledgehammers and Miranda feels understanding drop on her like boulders. “Mates.”

Finally Andrea arrives. Her hand presses against the silver-haired woman’s face. She leans in, whispers, “Yes. As we are yours, you are ours.” Then kisses her. “Find us. We are the light in the darkness.”

Light explodes behind Miranda’s eyes, through her whole body. 

She awakens with a gasp, still on the plane. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Willow doesn’t bother to knock. She knows that if they’re awake, they knew she was coming. She stands in the open door way, jay-naked and hands propped on her hips. “First. We need a bigger bed. Both houses. Today preferably, but soon, regardless. Second. Miranda Priestly of Runway? How does Miranda Priestly get into our dreams? I ask this somewhat rhetorically, because, she is ours,” She casts a look at Buffy and says, more quietly, “... and I am not opposed in specifics, just I have no idea how this happened.”

“Actually,” Tara comes up behind Willow and wraps an arm around her middle. “I think we were in her dream. And you were there when Andy shared, like the rest of us. It was a possibility.”

“An unlikely one. Usually, with something like this, the person has to at least be present at the same ceremony.” It was a mild complaint of technicalities. 

Buffy stretches, she finds she doesn’t really need the answer. She’s satisfied that what is true is true. “It was a very good dream, though a little short.” She flashes a wicked glance at the slowly waking Andy and sits up, running a hand from breast to inner thigh along the brunette’s body. Andy arches to the touch, still highly sensitized. 

Andy bites her lower lip and exhales to try and control her instant response and take part in the conversation appropriately. “I’ve been dreaming about her for years. We... we...”

Tara gently nudges Willow further into the room. “You’ve been bonded a long time then.”

“Bonded... I didn’t know. I had no idea. I thought... She’s unreachable.”

“She seemed pretty reachable to me.”

“Sure. In dream-land. In reality... She’s smart, efficient, dangerous to the ego at the very least, and gets her own way a lot. My telling her to come after us could result in an opposite effect.”

“She’ll come,” Buffy says firmly. The wildness in her knows a thing, Miranda will want to check on her pack; now that she has one. She saw it in her eyes. Miranda was someone who had gone too long lonely. She knew the feeling. Miranda might not believe they were destined yet, but she’d still come looking. 

“She’s already on her way,” Willow confirms. “Though she could turn around...”

“She’ll come,” Buffy repeats herself. She offers the second reason to the others. “She’ll want to see whether what she dreamed was true.”

“Was it?” Andrea asked. She’s had these dreams so long to herself, it’s hard for her to tell. “Was it true or just...”

Buffy swivels, reaches and pulls the brunette to her. Wordless proofs are her forte. She kisses Andy, at first very firmly. It softens quickly and they pull back, filled with heat. “Andy, we’re here. For real. Not going away.”

“Okay.”

“Bigger beds,” murmurs Willow, her eyes intent. “And bigger rooms.” She looks at Tara. “I’m not waiting for carpenters.”

“Magic then?” Buffy asks.

“Yes. Let’s go look up some spells.” Tara pauses and casts a glance at all of them, “And when we get a chance, we are so going to talk about consummation; the when and the how.” She turns then, not quite stomping out.

Willow shrugs. “She didn’t get her morning wake up call and the dream … well. Not finished, you know. Hungry for some loving. But also, needs must.”

“I thought it was you who were grumpy,” Andy says. She is now partially sitting up, propped on her arms.

“No. I was just demanding.”

“I’m confused. Is there any particular reason we can’t …. you know... now?” Andy inquires. She asks this for very personal pressing reasons. Tara is not the only one unfinished. Andy is flat out needful and throbbing. It wouldn’t take much to throw the switch and finish the job. 

“Well, for one thing, Miranda is en-route, likely in flight. If I was sensing correctly, and I qualify that it was a dreamscape. However, If we do, what you are suggesting we do, well... she’ll likely be in the presence of others when we... have that special moment and we all know what I’m talking about... and I think, given the nature of how we started, it’s likely we’d end up sharing with her.”

Andy blinks and then she blinks again. “Oh. Oh, well, that can’t happen all the time can it?”

“Have no idea. Probably not. But we’re new, as in just recently bonded like last night, and it’s magic and magic sometimes shares energy around. Seems safer to wait until she’s on the ground. Or at least, closer to us. And then it’s a case of practice, practice, practice. You know, to discover whether it is or isn’t, you know, sharing, and then to refine it so it only shares when we want it to and... well... practice makes perfect. Especially in magic.”

“But...” Andy looks at Buffy, whose hand is trailing dangerously close to parts that really want to be touched. 

“Buffy,” Willow says. “Feel like waffles?”

The blonde turns her attention to her long-time best-friend, “So. Really no?”

“Really, really no, honey, but soon. I promise.” Willow reassures her, pulling her from the bed, and the temptation that the tall, naked, highly aroused brunette presents to them both.

Andy collapses back on the bed, slaps her hands over her eyes and groans in frustration.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The good thing about the rest of the flight is that Miranda has time to think, to process; and to make some demanding phone calls because work is always work and fake-Irv needs some serious thwarting. The upcoming edition will be one dollar and only one dollar over the budget. It’s a test of reasonableness, which is almost unnecessary, as she can pretty well guess how he will react. She has already discussed the strategy with not-Irv’s boss. She has been assured that they are aware of the problem and watching as much as she is.

The thinking and processing happens a little behind the scenes, as she lets her subconscious do its job. When she’s done plotting, she’s ready to take a good look at the dream which, this time was very much more than a mere dream. It is obvious why she was given the choice, even though it was a blind one. She knows she can be impetuous, especially when she feels spurned or when her feelings are very near the surface. In this case, it was a near thing, but she remembers that Andrea was reaching for her and the small blonde’s revelation. Those were not the words or actions of exclusion. Precaution, yes, but she was not dis-invited, merely examined. And claimed.

Odd. She thought she was the one supposed to do the claiming; an effort, she supposed that was technically fulfilled by making the choice to go through the door.

As she sips the water provided, she mentally reviews the whole, from beginning to end and then again. She also considers her motives for being on the flight to begin with and has to acknowledge that she had been aware that the event had to have been one that involved more than one person, given the strength of it and her sense of it. Now she knows, at least in theory, the who. Despite herself a small smile curves her lips as she recalls the strength she felt in the encounter. She also considers the effect of Andrea’s kiss, which had literally been transporting. 

Her mind plays the little blonde’s blunt words again and the guardian’s and shakes her head. For a few seconds she toys with the idea of denial, but she has heard stories of what happens to mated unions when they go denied. She is not a fan of unnecessary suffering. She may not know all the players personally, but she is willing to discover them and, she supposes, be discovered. 

She simply never, in her long illustrious life, ever considered this as an outcome. 

She wonders how smart they are. Andrea, she knows, is very. But the others, well, if they truly are her mates, then no doubt they can keep up. Still, she probably should warn them to hold off on any serious play. It could have consequences; not that she’s opposed, but she doesn’t want to be distracted. She pulls out her her phone and checks her numbers. Then grumbles to herself. Of course not, because when Miranda Priestly blocks a number, she is always thorough. 

She makes a call. “I want Andrea Sach’s current cell number.” She clicks the phone shut. She sees no point in trying to run all over the map when technology and her assistants can do the running for her. 

She considers, very briefly, hastening the flight past a nudge, but if she were going to do that she might as well have attempted a teleport. It is something she can do, but having entered the plane, she feels she must exit it, just for form’s sake. Otherwise she must deal with the nonsense of altering memories or paying someone else to do it. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The flight remained otherwise undisturbed and by the time the flight landed, she had to assume they were wise enough to have figured it out. The thought pleased her. It boded well.

A chauffeur is there as Miranda arrives. He holds the usual kind of placard. He is from the same service she uses at home and he spots her almost as soon as she is in the area. She appreciates his attentiveness to detail. 

While retrieving her bags, which she lets him do, her cellphone rings. It’s not a number she knows, but she answers on the off chance that it’s Andrea.

It is not. 

“What do you want with my daughter’s cell phone number?” a womanly voice inquires. The tone is stern, brooking no nonsense. Miranda is slightly taken aback and realizes that this must be a very unique person to have gotten past her assistant. 

“I plan to call her,” Miranda states, without irony. “She is expecting contact from me soon.”

The pause is palpable. Then the woman says, “She doesn’t work for you any more.”

“No. She does not. This is a personal call, for personal reasons. It is imperative that I convey a message to her, Ms...”

“Cecelia. Call me CeCe. You could tell me the message.”

Miranda can not help the laugh, “No. I’m afraid not. It’s for her ears only.”

Again there was a pause, and then a puff of an “Oh.” Then CeCe says, “I see.” 

“May I have the number, CeCe? Please.” 

“If she calls me crying...”

“You may call me back and chastise me, as you see fit. I will even stay on the phone and listen to it. For a little while, anyhow.”

A bark of laughter warmed the connection. Then Miranda heard word that let her breathe a little easier, “Okay.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

At the Magic Box, books related to mystical building and construction are stacked on the table. It’s actually fascinating reading. Andy experiences memory cascades, a knowing that she has done this sort of thing before. “I think I may have been a construction worker...” She pauses and looks around to see the others, including Anya, looking back, “... in another life.” 

Anya says, “You would look good in a construction hat. And a toolbelt.”

Buffy, who is bored by a lot of reading, but not by watching people read, shares, “... and nothing else. Yeah, definitely good. Well, except, maybe the boots. You need the boots too. You know, to complete the image.” Her hands make an outline of Andy’s figure. 

Anya’s eyes go wide and her attention flips to Buffy, who has been sitting on a tall stool at the counter. 

Then her attention bounces when Andy says, “It’s a good thing you’re way over there, Buffy. You’d be getting it right now.”

Willow says, without looking up from her book and as she flips a page, “And getting it and getting it...”

“Can we can the sex talk until we can do something about it?” Tara growls. 

Anya’s jaw drops. “Wait a minute. You have all been acting strange since last night,” She starts, getting ready to piece together things in the most prurient way possible. Before she can begin, however, the doorbell jingles. Buffy is on her feet, immediately, attentive and dangerous. “You are so getting questions,” Anya hisses. Then she smiles brightly, “Hello new customer, how may I help you?”

A leggy blonde in red turns and smiles coolly. “You can tell me you’ve found the key.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

As if that question is a signal, a cell phone begins to ring. Andy who was put on alert by Buffy’s reaction, has been staying low-key, but paying attention. She uses the moment to be distracting and drops her book on the table. It thunks loudly. “Whoops. I think that’s me.” The chair scoots back, scraping harshly on the floor.

Anya instinctively spins around, “Hey, be careful with that.”

“Sorry Anya.” Andy stands, but by that time the cell phone has stopped ringing. “You know, they always set that too short.”

“Excuse me. Did you all not hear me. I asked about my key.”

“No you didn’t,” Andy says, as she stalks toward the coat rack. “You made a statement about a key.”

Peeved, the blonde says, “She knew what I meant! And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting my cell phone. I thought that would be obvious. Not that it’s any of your business really.”

“Andy, don’t insult the customers, please.” Anya says. Then she says, very politely, “No. I have not found the key.” She is following the Scoobie’s current policy of of lie and stall. They are not yet strong enough to take on the hellgod. 

Then Anya chances a glance at Andy and recalls something very particular about the Terrible One. She gulps and considers her wood floor and her breakable store. Nope, she is not saying anything. Not right now. 

Glory turns and stares at the brunette, who is fishing in the pocket of a coat. Andy pulls out the cellphone with a look of triumph. Then she notices the woman’s attention on herself. “What?”

The hellgod’s head is cocked. “There’s something about you.” Her expression is puzzled. “Do I know you?”

Anya tries to think of something immediately distracting to say and fails. She turns to Buffy and mouths, “Do something!”

“Glory, leave my girlfriend alone. You can’t possibly know her. She just got into town, and she doesn’t know anything about anything. Get me?”

Andy puts on her most innocent and helpless wide-eyed look, with a sheepish half-smile thrown in for good measure. It’s a very effective look, and often how she actually feels. She holds her hands up slightly, cellphone in one palm.

Glory blows a puff of air, which floats up her hair a bit, and props her hands on her hips. She gazes at Andy and says, “You’d tell me if you found my key, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably,” Andy says, helpfully. “Are we talking car key or house key? Did you lose it in the store or outside?”

Glory’s eyes widen and she turns then to Buffy. “Okay. You’re telling the truth. I can see that now.” She glances about, then sniffs in a huff. “You find it. You tell me.” Then she randomly picks a crystal ball and throws it on the floor. It shatters and breaks the floor. “Because you know what happens if you don’t!” Then, growling ominously, she stalks back out of the store. 

Anya looks morosely at the shattered crystal and her poor floor. It had been one of the few original items that she kept on display. “Well. Crap.”


	7. Chapter 7

The crystal is swept up, the hole in the floor is very hole-like. Willow is bent over, hands on thighs in not quite a crouch. “Well, it does give us a chance to test out the spell,” she offers. 

“I’ll call the repair person,” Anya says. She’s not inclined to risk a magical blow back just for experimentation’s sake. 

“We’ll isolate the spot.” Tara reassures her. “If we make it worse, we’ll pay to get it fixed.”

“Or just have Xander do it.” Buffy suggests. “Then no one has to pay for anything other than materials.”

“Xander. I like the Xander option. I love him and he loves me enough to do this for free. Yes.”

“Sure, be practical and spoil a perfectly good magical plot,” Willow says, unbending. “I guess we’ll just have to skip practice and move right into fiddling with the house.”

“Not opposed,” Tara replies. 

Buffy grins and leans against the cashier counter. She looks at Andy, who is now seated where she had been. “So?”

The brunette appears a little flustered. “That was mom.”

“And.”

“Miranda is going to be calling. She gave her my number.”

Andy stares at the phone, holding it in both hands. Buffy moves closer, bracing her arms around the writer. “It’s a good thing, right.”

“She blocked my calls. Not that I used her number, but to Runway. And it’s not entirely personal, just the usual thing she does when an employee quits. It went into effect after I got my stuff from the office. I kept the numbers anyway, for the longest time. Until I moved. Then I got a new service provider and number. I decided not to port the addresses onto my phone. I don’t even know where the sim card is.”

Buffy realizes Andy isn’t asking for a solution, just needing comfort. She touches the writer’s face, caressing it softly. “Different day, Andy. Time has passed.”

“Mom didn’t say when she’d call.”

“Don’t worry about it. Don’t have to wait by a phone that you carry with you. No need to let it wreck your schedule or you.”

Andy looks up, gaze glistening. Then she kisses Buffy softly. “Thanks.”

“Been there. Breakups and make ups can be very hard. I learned a bit.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The four women make their way to the hardware store. Supplies are needed for the spell, symbolic objects that can be consumed without too much loss; tools like hammers, a fistful of nails, boards. While there, they look around. They are all, in their own ways, inveterate shoppers. Buffy notes the price of dowels have gone down again. It is so much easier to make stakes when you have a proper wood to start with. “I can make six Mr. Pointies with that.” 

Andy grabs several and puts them in the cart. She wants Buffy to have as many Mr. Pointies as possible. She wants her well armed. Oddly, being in the store makes her think of weapons and how to make them.

Before her thoughts can really get going on the topic, her cell phone rings. 

This time all she has to do is reach into her pocket. “Sachs.”

“Where are you?” The demand is delivered with familiar crispness. Andy can not believe how much she has missed it. 

“Bill’s Hardware on Jefferson.” Andy answers automatically, then puts a hand to her forehead and shakes her head in amazement. She mouths, “Miranda!” to her companions. 

Willow extends her hand. “Gimme!”

She makes that order at the same time as Miranda says, as if she actually has patience, “Andrea. Try again.”

“Oh. Right. Sunnydale. Willow wants to talk to you.”

“Willow.” Miranda sounds as if she is tasting the name and trying to guess which one that might be.

Andy wonders if it is cowardice that has her handing off the phone so quickly, but then there was also the redhead’s expression, which hinted at urgency. 

“Miranda. Hi. Have you gotten out of L.A. yet? No? Good. One Oh One has got some heckalacious repair work going on and you can bet it’ll be three hours before you even see the welcome sign and that’s without rush hour traffic. So instead head toward Santa Monica and get onto One and just enjoy the scenic route by the water. It’s technically longer, but you’ll get here faster. Call when you see ‘Welcome to Sunnydale,’ and we’ll get you to Andy or Buffy’s house, or wherever we’re at. You should be here before dark, so that will be good. Oh, and no hotels. You’ll stay with us. Even if you aren’t ready to … uh... well...it’s just safer. Okay? Okay. Right.” Willow extends the phone back to Andy. “She wants to talk to you now.”

Andy takes the phone back and glances at it with more than a touch of trepidation. Then, screwing up her courage, she puts it by her ear. “Hi, Miranda.”

“You and I have much to discuss.” Andy can tell, it’s not just about how one does not leave another person’s employ. It’s about that other thing, about how dreams have crossed over into real life and somehow, she, Andy, has brought Miranda into a very strange circumstance. She knows the editor likes to instigate change, but she also is a woman of order. Her world has been shaken, but the good news is that she is not alone.

“I figured.” Andy replies, not feeling up to sharing all those notions just yet. “I’m open to discussing. Among other things.” She’s really, really open to the other things right now. Has been since this morning, where she’s been left in “slow-burn” land. She glances at Tara, who offers an empathetic glance back.

“Why are you in a hardware store?”

The problem with not working for Miranda now is the “professional” filter is no longer there and her personal filter when it comes to the woman is a sieve. “Were getting dowels for stakes and tools for a spell. Gotta expand the bedrooms.” Again, Andy slaps her hand to her forehead again. This time her silent words are, “What is the matter with me?!” She is aware they are in a public space, yet the words just came right out.

Buffy sighs and extends her hand. At the same time she offers a reassuring non-smile at Andy. She knows they are in Sunnydale, where magical discussions and events tend to get glossed over by those who pass by and ignored. She’s been holding public discussions of magic with Willow and Xander for years.

“Buffy wants to talk to you now.”

“Buffy?” Andy can almost hear the wheels churning in Miranda’s head. She wonders what she is thinking. 

“Yeah. Don’t let the sweet name fool you.” She teases gently. “She is stronger than she looks.”

“Pass it!”

“Passing the phone now.”

Buffy shakes a finger at Andy as she grabs the phone. “Hi. It’s better to be warned than dead, so sorry, just take what I say as gospel for now. We have vamps here, with long teeth and craving for blood. We have other critters too, but I try to keep them to a minimum. We also have a big bad. Do not pass go with her, as she’s not a trifling woman and tends to eat brains. We’ll explain more when you get here. Willow was serious on the safer at our house part.”

Miranda exhales. She remembers abruptly that she has heard the name of the town, but could not envision it until now. The magical block around the area is very effective. “I see. Sunnydale is special then. An attractor of things dark and dangerous.” It’s not the only city that is like that, but now she has a better idea of why Andy would be dabbling. 

“You’re taking this very calmly.”

“I’ve seen a lot over my time. You’re very young, aren’t you.” Miranda is contemplating how this will possibly fold into her life, she hasn’t got the full picture yet, but feels the necessity building. 

“I’m old in slayer years. But we’re all of legal age, if that’s what you’re worried about. All of us, including Andy, are in college. Andy is the oldest, which you have probably guessed.”

“Dear God.” The words are husked in a near whisper. Perhaps she should consider re-opening her contact with Hugh again. Apparently they now have something in common. The only thing missing is a hot-tub, as bedrooms have already been mentioned.

“I could put the flirty spin on this, and well other kinds too, I suppose, but we don’t know each other well enough yet. Soon though. I can feel you coming. I look forward to it too.”

Miranda, despite herself, is charmed. “Naughty.”

“Hopefully as often as possible. See, flirty spin. You’ll like us. You’ll see.” Buffy’s voice holds hope as well and expectation. The older woman finds it oddly soothing. 

She wishes urgently she had the names before she’d made the call. A part of her whimsically considers putting in a work order to Morpheus. But names have never been his strong suit. “Is the other one there too.”

“Tara?”

“Tara.” Once again Miranda tastes the name, weighs it. Remembers the dream. Could it be? “As in, the Tara.”

Buffy was sure the she wouldn’t have understood the inflection the woman had put in the witch’s name before today. “I don’t know. We don’t know. She’s just Tara to us.”

“I am beginning to get a broader picture, however. Yes. Let me speak with Tara, please.”

Buffy extends the phone. 

Tara, who had managed not to stutter all day, is at a temporary loss, “H-hello?” Shyness is a strong beast to conquer sometimes, even when one has powerful motivation.

“Tara, I thought, as I’d spoken with the other two, it would be remiss for me not to at least say hello. Did you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

“Hi.” Tara decided to keep things simple and true. “Be safe. We need you.”

Miranda is warmed by the simplicity. Tara is, apparently, a woman of fewer words. She can appreciate that. She considers pressing for more, just to get a stronger feel for the young woman, but then decides she has enough to work with for now. She has a location, she has directions, and she has forewarning. Really, this has been a very efficient call and it says much about them, that they would be concerned for her safety and that they are not playing games of denial. So unusual.

“I shall.” She reassures her Tara, letting her voice warm. “I will be there soon.” 

The phone goes quiet and Tara realizes that Miranda has finished the conversation.

“She doesn’t say goodbye?”

“She never has. I don’t think she likes saying good bye.” As soon as the Andy articulates the thought, she experiences an epiphany about her former boss. One that causes her to stop in her tracks. “Wow. She really doesn’t.” For some reason, she finds that one small thing very reassuring and endearing.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They decide to start with Buffy’s house, because it’s closer. This time, the ceremony will be inside the house. They move the furniture in the front room so they have a wide space to work with. Tara carefully arranges the tools and some important other components. Willow makes two or three rewrites. Some spells have to be spoken exactly as written and passed down, but others, like the one they will be attempting, require that one innovate, because each application is unique. She wants this one to be, not just perfect, but fantastically awesome, especially given who is going to be arriving soon. Others may not know this, but she’s a fan of Runway. She doesn’t live by it, like Buffy does, but she has always enjoyed looking at the magazine; great articles and beautiful women. What’s not to like? She wants to make a gift of the spell, to her new bond-mates and to welcome Miranda properly. So she bends her considerable intellect and wit to the task. 

When she’s done tweaking, she hands the written work to Andy for a quick once over. The brunette reads, rereads and says, “Ooh, this is nice. Needs illumination and a bridge, let me...” Willow hands her the pen, then wanders over to check with Tara and Buffy. The slayer is reclining on the sofa, watching everything with a quiet intensity. Tara is standing, hands on hips, considering whether they have everything. She snaps her fingers. “Salt. We need salt.”

“Kitchen. They have kosher and sea salt.”

“Perfect,” Tara says. She pauses on her way to give Willow a tender kiss of thank you. 

The redhead smiles and sees that Buffy is crooking a finger at her. So she makes her way to the couch, and then with comfortable aplomb slides onto the couch and into Buffy’s arms. A day ago, this would not have been possible, she thinks. For her, this one thing makes it all worth it. “Hi,” she says to her friend. “You wanted to see me.”

“Among other things,” Buffy says with a tease in her eyes. She leans forward, pressing her lips against the redhead’s. Then she pats her bottom softly. “I really just wanted to do that. It’s nice to be able to.”

Willow’s grin is always transforming. Buffy enjoys watching it form. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Again they find themselves at the corners, though this time, their hands are immediately connected. This time they each have a line to say, somewhat memorized. It’s more context than perfection, however. They’re just shooting for a better home for them. 

Again, Tara is their start. She invokes the names of goddesses of the hearth and home, starts the blessing and then opens the spell. It follows their previous round, each speaking their part, saying it strongly and clearly. At the center of their small circle is a small incense stick, burning its slow way down. It is the symbol of the hearth. With each new spell-line added, smoke billows and wafts. A sweet, comforting scent fills the air. Each woman is visualizing, thinking of what they are striving for. Each idea of it is unique, however, each want or need. Their visions blend with the words. 

The atmosphere around them feels thicker and more tangible. The women continue to say their piece, with careful deliberation. The air around them gets thicker and whiter, until they can’t see each other. They can only feel each other and hear each other. Their words seem to slow, but really, they are saying them as fast as they were before. It’s just power has gathered, a lot of power, and it’s literally flooding the room and them. 

And then, it’s the last four lines, the last connecting details, the summary conclusion. Where moments ago even saying the words was a burden, as each new word is spoken there is a loosing, a freeing, a sense of amazing release. The light falls in at first, seeming to collapse and then it explodes outward, flashing to and through the women, the house, the area.

Andy shakes with it, gasping in ecstatic surprise, as a secondary effect flashes through her. “Oh my!”

She’s not the only one.

This time, however, they do not faint with it. They ride the wave of it instead, surfing on the crest of power, until it eases. 

It’s not until that sensation finishes that they each realize that their eyes had been closed. When they peek, carefully, at each other, they are relieved to see that they are alright, if slightly giddy and sated.

Andy quips, “Well, I feel better. How about you, Tara?”

This brings out a round of laughter, which leads to hugs, which leads to soft, affectionate and slightly relieved kisses. It’s after this, that they begin to look around themselves. 

Willow expresses what is most on their minds next. “Wow.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda is infinitely glad she had the forethought to engage the privacy window. Her body is flushed and she can till feel the trembling waves of energy tingling through her. She knows she looks a bit discombobulated as she’s slid down the seat some. She covers her eyes with her hands, but does not stifle the giggle that starts. She can’t believe they’ve done this again in less than twenty-four hours. 

The giggle turns into an outright laugh, something she hasn’t done in it seems like forever. The laugh rumbles through her whole self, amusement and trepidation combined, until it finally slows enough that she can compose herself. 

She is tempted to call them, but instead, decides to call her children while the sense of mirth is upon her. It’s been awhile since they’ve heard her laugh too, and she wants to share.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“This room looks exactly the same. Are we sure this worked?” Buffy says, head cocked and hands on her hips.

“It worked,” Tara replies firmly. “This is the public face, a front room. It is a little larger though and it makes sense that it’s...”

“Come see!” Willow had not lingered, but had barreled out of the room, through the hall and back. She returns to the open double frame that leads to the front room and is grinning very widely. “We’ve got more doors! And I haven’t even been upstairs yet.” She makes a motion with her fingertips. “Some of the doors have little drawings on them. Like labels. I’m opening one.” She whirls back around, heading down the hall again.

She stops at one of the doors and looks at the little icon that is just a little less than eye-height to Andy. It’s a square with a triangle on top, looking very much like a drawing of a house. Curious. She grasps the handle as the other women finally arrive. With a smile, she turns it and opens the door. Then her expression pinches. 

“It’s just a closet,” she says with disappointment. “There’s not even a rail to hang things on.”

“So. Storage space,” says Andy. “People always need storage space.”

“I guess.” Willow shakes her head. “It’s just, I imagined it’d be more space than this.” She steps in, opening her arms wide. The room goes dark, as if the door has been closed. “Hey. Not funny.” She turns, feeling for the wall, the door, a handle. She’s not panicking. She’s... OH. Oh, there it is. She is so going to have a talk with the pranksters. So going to... She pushes the door open, intending a really good what-for and stops and stares. She steps out and looks. “Andy’s place,” she whispers. She turns and looks at the outside of the door and there’s a little house icon. 

“Oh! Oh, I get it. I get it now.” She looks at Andy’s house, which she realizes feels larger and more expansive. 

Then, because she realizes the others might be worried, she steps back in. 

They were. They were getting ready to do something hasty. She can tell. She smiles at them, warmly, especially since she sees that the door is still open. “Andy’s house doesn’t need the spell anymore. It’s done.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Two doors, one which they’ve already opened, have the house icon. “I wonder where this one goes,” Buffy says. She opens the door, but doesn’t try to step through because a slayer is naturally cautious that way. Like the other space, it looks just like an ordinary closet. “Let’s find out,” Willow says, willing to volunteer now.

She strides, and something pushes her back. She doesn’t even make it through the door frame. Her eyes widen and she puts her hand against an invisible pressure. “Whoa. A force field. I can’t go through.”

“Maybe a person can only go through a portal once a day?”

“Not likely, but...”

“Let me try,” Andy says. 

“Be careful. The closet was dark on the other side. The door was closed.” Then Willow blinks. “Oh, and I think I left it open.”

“How about you go close the door and come back and then try this door again, so we can rule out the doors must be closed theory and the only one time theory all at once.”

“Right. Be right back.” 

They shut the door, while Willow opens the other one and then she goes through again, and disappears. 

“Still freaky,” Buffy says.

“But at least now we know where it goes.”

“Doesn’t change the freaky.” 

“That’s a point,” Tara agrees. “It will take some getting used to.”

Willow reappears with a smile. “All done. Oh, and the door closes automatically behind us, I think. It was closed when I got there. But I made sure to shut it on the way in this time too,” she says.

“So we try again?”

“I will,” says Andy, as Buffy opens the door. Like Willow before her, she impacts a solid nothing. “Won’t let us through.”

“But why?”

“Maybe it’s not connected to something yet.”

"You three live here, and that door is to my house," Andy muses, "so, maybe this one is supposed to lead to Miranda's townhouse."

“So, why can’t we go through?” Buffy asks.

Andy shrugs, but Tara has a thoughtful expression. “Miranda is something more, than just a part of us. I think she has to be here to actively make the connection. The four of us were willing, we knew what was what going in, but Miranda doesn’t. The placeholder and the force field may be the magic’s version of giving her the final choice.”

They gaze at each other, then at the open space within. Buffy silently closes the door. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Whimsically, having made the discovery that they can step back and forth between two houses, they play with the option, splitting up to take turns exploring the changes and then returning to one of the few rooms that have remained mostly the same, which is Casa de Summer’s front room, which they realize makes it a “front,” for appearances sake. It seems to be a common theme.

“The front of Andy’s house looks just the same,” reports Willow.

“But my backyard is... is...,” Andy is finding the whole thing boggling.

“It’s grown a bit,” Willow says. “The grove is older and more trees. There’s a creek that kind of goes nowhere. It runs through and then... stops at the neighbor’s yard. Except it doesn’t. That stop is an illusion. If you’re right there, you can follow the creek. We did that for a little bit, but not far, because, well, don’t know where it goes and didn’t want to get lost ... And when you look at the back from the outside, it looks like it did before. Really kind of fascinating, actually.”

“Like this house, the front room is the same, except larger. The kitchen is still the kitchen. Things were sparkly, but stove, microwave, sink, the usual.”

“Same with the dining room. Bigger table, more chairs, more dishes in the dish cabinet. But it looks like the dining room.”

“Bathroom though...”

“Downstairs. Very nice. Roomy. Guest appropriate roomy though. Nothing to give away the game, really. Mostly. I thought the towel warmer was nifty.”

“Upstairs.” Andy pauses as if trying to form the words. Then starts to say something and then stops and then starts again. “Sybaritic. Amazing. Wow. Not just the bathroom. The whole floor is... there are a couple of doors. I mean, the hallway is there, but...”

“Big rooms. Big Beds.” Willow grins. “Comfy beds. Inviting. Tempting.”

“But some work rooms too, just like before; a study. A library. Family room. That was new. But it’s there.”

“Big TV. You didn’t have a television before,” Willow glances at Andy.

“Didn’t need it. Was a distraction. I guess it’s not gonna be now.”

“Or it will be. We’ll find out, I guess.”

“How about you guys?”

“The front yard, the same as before. The backyard. It’s... You know, It looks the same. Swimming pool, but a little broader. The hot tub was fixed.”

“You have a hot tub?”

“Came with the house.”

“Cool.”

“The basement is deeper than it was before,” offers Tara. “The stairway looks to be about twice as long. And it sounds like it’s also a lot bigger.”

“Spooky.”

“Yeah.” Buffy says. “I plan on taking a sword with me when I go down.”

“Nice. But I don’t think you’ll need it. Consecrated, remember. Whatever is down there is for us, not against us.”

Buffy blinks at her. She is so used to preparing for the worst that it never occurred to her that the dark might not be a bad thing.

Andy redirects her attention. “But upstairs?”

“Like yours. Nifty rooms, and,” now Buffy grins widely, “nice wide beds. Bouncy.”

“You jumped on one without me?” Willow blinks. 

“Well. Tara jumped with me.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright then. You can’t jump the beds alone. Your mom said.”

They all pause as a moment of respect passes for Joyce-mom. Then Andy says, “Want someone to go down with you. I mean, to the basement.”

Everyone starts to giggle, despite themselves. Buffy says, “Yes, Andy. Come with. You got my back.”

“Always.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The stairwell, which is well lit once the light switch is hit, goes down a flight, hits a platform and then it turns and goes down another flight. The walls follow, right up until the last few steps. So a random person looking won’t see what is downstairs. 

They arrive at the bottom and both pause and frankly stare. “That’s a lot of space.”

“Growing room.”

“Is that... a weapons rack?”

Buffy suddenly grins. All her practicing has been at the Magic Box, but she’s never had a place at home to really let loose. There was never enough space, and the walls had always been vulnerable to breakage. 

“Mine!” She says. She practically skips to the center. Against the same wall as the currently empty weapons rack, is an equipment locker. “This is very cool.”

Andy starts to grin. “Yeah. It is.” She joins Buffy at the center, turning to look. She spots what looks like a couple of rooms. “Look, the laundry room. I wonder if there is a chute. We might have to consider putting a washer dryer set upstairs.”

“Take a look?”

Andy does, opening the door and glancing in. It looks like a nice, white laundry room with all the pieces and parts. “Your washer and dryer got updated and you can fire the clothes down from somewhere. There’s a hamper.”

“Coolness.”

They open the next door. “Ah. Now that’s the storage room. Check out those shelves. Lots and lots. Buffy, people would pay out the nose for those shelves alone, in any place but Sunnydale. Houses are cheap here.”

“Which is why you moved here?”

“Yeah. And I liked the name.”

Buffy started to giggle. “I think that gets a lot of people. It’s a shame really, because it could be a great town. It has everything a bigger city has, but...”

“... it comes with things that go bump in the night.”

“Yeah.”

“Last door?”

“Probably more storage.”

“Won’t hurt to look.”

It’s a good thing they do. This door has an icon. It’s a tree. 

They stare at it for a minute. Finally Buffy says, “It’s not going to open itself.”

“Should we get the others?”

“Eventually. Open it.”

Andy obeys. 

Daylight filters into the room, bright and pleasant. They hear the soft sounds of the outdoors. They see a tiny, tiny hallway with an upslope. “Oh wow.” Andy looks at Buffy and says, “I think this may be your expanded back yard. Your real one.”

“Think there is a creek?”

“Can you hear it?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. I think so. I think it may be the same one. Who knows, maybe if we’d followed it from my place, going in the right direction, we would have found this place.”

“I want to go look. Coming with?”

“Heck yeah.”


	8. Chapter 8

“And so, we followed the creek, heading like we were going toward Andy’s. It wasn’t far.”

“You found the grove.” Tara responds with sudden insight. “And then the house and that’s why you came through Andy’s door.” 

Buffy spread her hands dramatically. “Ta-da.” She smiles at both Willow and Tara.

Andy says, folding her arms, “The grove has really, really changed. I mean, the circle is there, but it’s way larger and there is an altar.”

Willow shrugs, “Well, it is magic.”

“Well, the altar was really old. I mean, I got that sense.” She thinks back, puzzling, “As if it’s been there a very long time, like the grove was older.”

“We already said though...”

“But did anyone else feel... Okay, so we’re walking, Buffy and I and there is this sense that, if we hang a different direction, we’d be going somewhere else, but that we shouldn’t. Not yet. And, in the grove, there’s this space, by the altar. It felt like the door, kind of.”

“Your door?”

“No. Miranda’s door. Except, it also feels like it’s been there a really long time. Like... from before.”

“But there wasn’t a before,” Tara says. “We just did the spell today.”

“I haven’t got an answer. I’m just letting you know what it felt like.”

“We understand.” Willow reassures the brunette, “... Magic can be a little strange. I mean, it grew a forest in your back yard. That’s the sort of thing that takes time. Maybe like in a good computer program, the spell just extrapolated the time needed to make it all look right.”

“Well, that’s a point.”

Buffy looks at the clock and then does a double take. “Oh man. Gotta go get Dawn. School’s almost out.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Normally, after school, they visit the Magic Box to see Giles and Anya. Buffy decides that they probably ought to keep the tradition, but she doesn’t want to hang too long. She realizes she’s been up for awhile and needs to get in a solid nap in preparation for tonight. The women agree to not mention the spell to Giles. Anya might say something, but if it’s busy she won’t and then she’ll likely forget in favor of whatever may be going on in the moment. 

Peeking in the window, they can see boxes are open. Anya has gotten a new shipment. They also see that Xander is there. The bell rings as the small group enters, with Dawn at the center. 

“The floor’s fixed, no magic necessary,” Anya declares almost as soon as they walk in. “Just miracle of Xander.”

“Hurray!” Willow offers an enthusiastic cheer. “But it still would have been cool.”

Giles is there and placing objects on a shelf. “It’s probably for the best, however. Some things are best done with a little sweat and effort. Hello, ladies.”

The young women spread out. Andy starts looking at some of the new stuff. 

Dawn says, “Has anyone heard from Spike?”

“He called from L.A. last night,” Xander says. “Something about puppets being everywhere. Sometimes I just don’t understand what vampires are going on about.”

Andy pauses at a largish object that looks very out of place in a magic shop. “Anya. How much is this?” She points at an anvil, unsure why she even wants it. Except, right that moment, she wants it very much. 

“Oh, we weren’t planning to sell that.“ Giles says quickly as Anya gets a calculating gleam in her eye. “It’s for the display.”

“But...” Andy pauses. Then she says, “I’ll give you two hundred cash for it. I’ll need to go to the bank, but it’s yours.”

Anya and Giles look at each other and then at Andy. “Sold.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Anvils are very heavy. Andy pays Anya to have it delivered to her place. “But what are you going to do with it?” Briefly, Andy has a vision of pounding metal, that she’s heated by invocation, with a hammer. Her hands seem to vibrate at the thought.

Her reply to Anya is a shrug and, “I don’t know. I’ll put it in the garage until I do. But I just....” She looks back at it. “I need it.”

The ex-demon gives Andy skeptical look. Then she shrugs. “It’s your money.” She abruptly smiles as soon as the cash is in her hand. “Thank you for being a paying customer. Buy again soon. But next time, try not to buy my display items. Now I have to get something else.” 

Andy offers a rueful glance and then says, “Okay.”

Buffy slides up and wraps an arm around Andy’s waist. “Giles doesn’t have any more news to offer today. Glory apparently has been spotted at another warehouse, but that’s it. She’s got the demon-folk in town very spooked and cooperative, so she might actually lay low tonight.”

“A good thing?”

“Right now, yeah.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The vehicle pulls to a stop just on the outskirts of a town. A blue-eyed, silver-haired, woman, very expensively dressed, steps out of the car and looks at the sign and then at the valley that holds the town. To anyone spying, she appears to just be looking. That is a truth, but she is actually seeing deeper.

She senses now what could not be experienced outside the careful web of hiding that has been crafted so long ago around this particular town. She sees, not just with her eyes, the numerous graveyards; far too many. She can also sense the blithe citizens who walk past their monsters without acknowledgment. She senses a great portal, precariously hidden by a bent and broken building. Its rubble hardly covers the danger at all. It seeps a fog of darkness, that covers most of the small town. She sees a spectrum of persons; local wealthy patrons and middle class. The only class missing are the truly impoverished. 

Her morbid sense of humor kicks in, briefly, about how some of her social acquaintances might react to that tidbit of information, but she finds the reality very sobering for what it tells her.

Deliberately, but carefully, she extends her awareness and spots “the big bad.” The essence tastes familiar, but weaker than she might have expected. She recognizes the species of divinity, if not the person. Whatever it is, has not been on this plane very long. She withdraws her attention before being spotted.

She allows a final once over, and spots, now that she is not overwhelmed with the pressures of the dark other, the points of light in the city. They are there and she finds it reassuring. 

Having satisfied herself that she understands the layout of things in general, if not specifics, she gets back into the car. Then, using her cell phone, she makes a call.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Dawn can not believe what they’ve done to the house, let alone her room. She’s thrilled. The bed is bounced under the watchful eye of her sister. For brief, beautiful moments it feels like old times, even if those times are shady, false memories to one of them. Both Dawn and Buffy value them. 

Dawn has her own PC, her own Internet access. She throws her arms around her sister. “This is great! I can look up all sorts of stuff now.” Like Willow, Dawn is an information junkie. This is nearly the most wonderful gift her sister can give her. 

“There’s no filter on at the moment, Dawnie, so I’m trusting you to be careful. No chats with old guys.”

“Eew.”

“You come to me if there are any problems. If there is trouble of any kind.”

“I will.”

Buffy hugs her sister tight, but not too tightly, and then lets her go. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Dawn says. It is hard to imagine that when she first arrived they had been so in conflict. Not that every day is perfect, but they both try and they both know that they are each other’s support. Dawn never questions how things get paid for, but she knows it’s not easy for Buffy. She doesn’t have a Watcher from the Council just to pay for things. They have to make their own way.

Fortunately, they had mom’s insurance and a good accountant for a buffer. She suspects that Buffy supplements, logically, by “found” change and sold goods. It’s a battle-winner’s ancient right, and the young girl sees nothing wrong with doing what needs doing. Buffy’s honor, however, makes it a tougher call. Dawn knows of at least one time where Buffy gave the belongings to the next of kin, even though they were not human, because they were even poorer than Buffy and she were and it wasn’t their fault that the other guy had been bad. It was a hard month because of that choice, and they lost cable, but she understood it. At one time, Buffy might have been just a slayer, and killed demons just because they were alien, but she’s changed and grown a lot. Dawn thinks she’s now got an inner guideline of what to look for, what badness really is and what it feels like, versus those folks just trying to get by and live in a world that is complicated. She suspect that one time generosity is not the only time.

Dawn helps with the finances by helping at the magic shop. Anya would let her assist all the time, except that she can’t. They’re a pretty good team, since she's usually there after school anyway; stocking, inventory-ing, cataloging the books, but she can’t work that many hours because of school and labor laws. And for the stuff that she wants, that is considered more of a luxury than a necessity, eBay has become her best friend.

They get by and they do pretty well. In some ways, she has more of a family now, or rather, it’s become more solid, because Willow and Tara came live with them. It’s been good and it provided stability for her sister and herself. 

Dawn is not blind. She is aware that something has changed between the older women of the house, but she is not sure what. She also notes the presence of Andy in the mix, which, she is not at all opposed to. She has become a good friend. It’s just that they all seem very... comfortable with each other. A part of her wants to ask and normally she would, since she can be quite bold. The other just wants to wait and see. It’s been awhile since she’s seen any sort of happy gleam in her sister’s eyes. And, she seems more ….

Relaxed is not the word. Nor is together. But they both apply. 

She just seems more. 

Dawn is inclined just to accept it, given that its arrival has coincided with the advent of the room of awesome. 

“Dinner in thirty,” Buffy says. Her expression is warm. “We’re expecting a guest, but we’re not sure when. She should be here soon though.”

“Who is coming?” Dawn runs through a mental catalog of known Buffy friends. It’s kind of a short list: Cordelia, Faith.... Not Anya, because Anya, Xander and Giles don’t count as guests. They are friend-family and the doors are so open that they never need an invite just to come sit and eat with them. Then she considers it might be a blood-kin family member, which would be very odd. That’s, also unfortunately, a short list. She thinks she and Buffy have relatives, but they never call. Never visit. It’s like they just don’t think of them at all. Even when their mom died, no one showed up for the funeral; except for the Scoobies. A part of her thinks that has to be weird. The other part just accepts things as they are.

Buffy’s smile warms her face. “Miranda.”

Dawn blinks at her sister, clueless.

\-----TDWP & BTVS----- 

Again it is Willow who provides directions, this time speaking directly to the driver. Her directions are clear and concise, with useful points of reference. She’s grown pretty skilled at doing it over the years, as she’s had to provide Buffy with those kinds of details since way back. The phone gets handed back to Miranda and she gushes, because it is how she feels. “Can hardly wait until you’re here. Hope you like Italian. You’ll be just in time.”

Miranda’s voice has softened since they last spoke. “I am looking forward to it,” she says. “Home cooked?”

“Yep. The only way to go around here. That is, when we’re not ordering out for Pizza. But that can get expensive, real quick. It would be bad of me to suggest telling your driver to speed, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. I am not inclined to risk getting pulled over for small details.”

“Well, there is that. But, the police around here are, well, kind of sketchy on the patrolling and sometimes part of the problem. That’s a whole other story, which will save for later. See you when you get here.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Lawn chairs are great inventions for people who are waiting on another person’s arrival. Andy is their designated lookout, but Tara waits with her. They sit quietly, facing out, hands linked without pressure. It’s just a holding pattern. 

Andy remembers what it was like the first time she met Miranda, how her arrival actually came before she did, like a wavefront. She got used to the sensation after awhile, learned to anticipate it rising up from the elevator, and used the time for many, many hasty preparations. “You know, we forgot to get her water.”

“Bottled?” Tara asks. “We wondered why that was in the fridge.”

Andy’s brows rise and then she grins, “You know, one of these days I’ll quit being surprised.”

“Not likely. Every day, except for one, so far, has been a surprise for me. I’m usually just so darn happy to be waking up with Willow, that I’ve learned to take it for granted. All days hold surprises; some good. Some... less good.”

“Well, you, Willow and Buffy have been among the happiest of my life, except for the waking up tortured part, but even then...”

Tara grins a laugh at her. 

Then, like a floodgate opens, the feeling of power arriving, washes over them. “Whoa.” Tara says, her eyes wide.

“That would be Miranda.” Andy says. “It’s always like that, but I think I thought we’d feel it sooner.” She glances up, then has an aha moment. “Oh. Wait. That makes sense. I think she’s been holding back. Not that I knew she could do that. Since I didn’t. And now I wonder if it was a secret test.”

“Damping down? A secret test of what?”

“Yes. Until... there.” Andy points in the direction of a horizon, the bare shimmer of power of their newly consecrated space. “I think she just let us know she was in the area. A secret test of who could figure out she was coming or feel it or something. I honestly don’t know. I’m just speculating.”

Tara nods, “I don’t know enough to say if you are right, but sometimes magic users, the really powerful ones, like to announce their entrance, so that competitors will be put on notice not to fool with them. Or so I’ve noticed.”

“And some will try to sneak by. I worry about that one guy and his friends. I don’t like the way he’s been scoping Buffy.”

“They haven’t tried anything since the last time.”

Andy turns. “And that thing they did?” Her gaze narrows dangerously and a low growl erupts. 

“It was handled. He’s just ambitious and self-centered. But they all aren’t bad. Not all the time.”

“I don’t know. I don’t trust him.”

“He can’t do anything now, at least not at our homes, and we are very careful when elsewhere.”

Their conversation pauses as a silver vehicle glides down the road. “Ooh, that won’t draw any attention, whatsoever.” Andy’s sarcasm is very arch.

Once again Tara offers a silent laugh at Andy. “I don’t think she usually has to worry if it does. And, maybe it’s not a bad thing. Ostentatious things like that puts some folks on notice and I can tell, even from here, she’s a very don’t-mess-with-me kind of woman.”

“Got that right,” Andy says and then they stand, together and as one. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy feels her in the back of her knees and her spine, and her gut get all shivery as she watches as first one leg swings out and then the next and the whole of Miranda comes into view in one graceful motion. Tara makes a little squeaking sound, which Andy can truly appreciate, as the vision is money, power and sex all rolled into one amazing package. The older woman, eyes covered by designer sunglasses, and looking so good the gods would weep for the beauty, pivots her head, obviously taking everything in; including themselves. 

They hear the door open behind them, even as they are watching the driver move to the back to get Miranda’s belongings.

“This is the part where we’re supposed to say hello, right,” Tara whispers. 

“Yeah. Just gotta be able to move first.”

“Mm.” Tara acknowledge and then squeezes Andy’s hand. 

It’s enough. Andy can suddenly breathe again. She starts forward, with Tara in tow. Miranda stays in place, obviously waiting on them to make the first move. 

Andy stops a foot and a half away, suddenly unsure. Last contact was a whole street across between them and that one went so well. This time she does not wave. She manages an almost nearly normal sounding, “Hello Miranda.”

Miranda lifts the glasses off her face, giving them the full impact of those sky-blue eyes. She doesn’t smile, but she does respond and not as coolly as it could have been. “Andrea.” 

Andy draws in a breath at the sliding caress her name has suddenly acquired. She whispers an, “oh,” of response, barely there. 

Miranda’s lips twitch at the edges, still not quite smiling. She turns her attention to the blonde beside the brunette. 

Tara, in a not so long ago life, would have curtsied in the presence of such a woman. She also would have been wearing a much longer skirt. Now she wears jeans without self-consciousness. She manages to let go of her first roiling inhibition, embracing a hard won strength in the presence of others. She steps forward, wrapping the woman in a quick, but full hug. “I’m Tara.” Then she pulls back, easing some space between them, but leaving a wake of comfortableness. 

Andy finds herself smiling and shaking her head, suddenly glad that she’d forgotten to mention that Miranda doesn’t necessarily go around touching strangers. It’s better this way, she thinks. Andy alone would have been too formal and uncomfortable and it would have just gotten weird.

Buffy passes by her, firmly patting her butt along the way. She’s been getting looser and more relaxed since coming home and the short nap did wonders for her mood. She, unlike Tara or Andy, doesn’t hesitate to get into Miranda’s space. 

The older woman has to look down. Her lips curl into a slightly feral smile, which is returned by the tiny blonde. “Hello you.” 

“Buffy,” the slayer offers, and once again, this time in tangible reality, her fingers clasp the edges of Miranda’s collar. She pulls her down and draws in the scent of the woman. A low not-quite-a-growl thrums in her. “You have good timing.” Then she kisses the side of the woman’s cheek and lets her go a little more gently than she’d pulled her in. “Dinner’s ready. Willow and Dawn are serving.” She steps away and looks at the chauffeur. “You can leave the bags on the doorstep. I’ll put them away.” She asks Miranda then, “Did you want him to stay in town?”

“I don’t anticipate needing him until I return to Los Angeles. You do have a car?”

“Just my mom’s jeep, but Andy has a Lexus.”

Miranda turns to her former assistant with a question in her eyes.

Predictably, Andy blushes as she explains. “My sister Rachel dragged me to a car auction, and it was kinda just...calling to me.”

Miranda compresses her lips, but not in rejection. She is fighting amusement at Andy’s discomfiture. “Fine.” She turns to Buffy, “Dawn?” 

“My younger sister.”

Miranda cocks a silver brow at Buffy and realizes there are many questions yet to be discovered. “Your parents...”

“Dead, or otherwise occupied, unavailable and/or unwelcome. Definitely not much in the way of “at home.” Or, in Tara’s case, dead meat if they ever come back here again, because her dad and relatives are generally bastardly and I don’t mean in the born way. It’s pretty much just us and Giles and, when they visit, Andy’s parents. They are really kind of awesome, which is unusual around here.” Buffy says it with some admiration and realizes, as she say mentions it, that it’s true. Andy’s parents are some of the very few who manage to cross that invisible barrier and stick. They call Andy all the time. She turns to look at her bond-mate and then offers a shrug, “But then Andy’s very unusual too, so I guess that works out.” 

Andy grins, “Gee, thanks, Buff.”

The petite blonde smiles, “Any time.” She takes Miranda’s hand in hers. “Come on. We can talk more inside.”

It leaves Miranda a little breathless to think that available parents are more unusual than unavailable parents in Buffy’s world. It stings at her eyes and aches her heart, which so many think of as ice. She thinks of her own daughters and how hard she tries to be there, despite her occupation; some days better than others. With Andrea so close by, she remembers one time in particular involving a tiny little storm; a great disappointment, but one that led to other greater successes. She glances at the young woman, who is looking at Buffy with affection. Miranda puts her glasses back on and lets herself be led to the house. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Middle-American and yet, something more. As when she entered the field of sanctuary, Miranda’s awareness of the power in the area has been heightened. That awareness expands more as she enters the house, which might be considered to be glowing, if one let themselves see. She, of course, sees very clearly. 

It is not yet evening, so Miranda was not wearing a coat, so they only linger in the hallway long enough for her to glance. She notes the front room, with it’s traditional decor and guest are welcome aspect. The house smells wonderful; tomato, oregano, traditional Italian spices, fresh bread and other warm flavors. Buffy leads her, unselfconsciously, into the dining room.

Miranda gets a sense of a small tableau, a moment of pause as she sees two young women. One a redhead, whom she recognizes and now has enough information to identify as the ebullient Willow. And the other, a lithe, young brunette who is going to be much taller than her sister when she reaches her final growth. Willow holds a large salad bowl and is placing it on the table. Dawn, on the other side, is snagging a soft breadstick. The redhead finishes what she is doing, and then looks up, but Dawn turns her head as soon as soon as she hears the others entering. She holds the breadstick in her hand like a baton. Her eyes start getting wider and wider. Her jaw drops. 

The redhead pulls back and starts toward them. “You’re here! You’re for real here! I was half afraid you’d turn around and go back!”

Buffy lets go of Miranda’s hand just as Willow comes to take both of them. “Wow look at you! Smashing, no doubt as usual. Andy says you always look good, but then you would. Come on in.”

“Wait! Wait! Wait!” Dawn is exclaiming. They all pause. Dawn points with the breadstick. “That is Miranda Priestly you are dragging around! The Miranda Priestly. Runway’s Miranda Priestly! You can’t just go around...” she starts to wave the breadstick, “...picking up Miranda Priestlys and bringing them to the house! They have things to do. Magazines to run! Oh my god! You’re Miranda Priestly! What are you doing here?! How did you get her here? What is going on?” 

“Dawn,” Buffy starts gently. 

“No. No. No. You can’t just Dawn me here, Buffy. This is serious business. This is... Do you know how many lives this woman impacts? I mean, you have her magazines all over the place. How could you not know who this is?” She turns to Miranda and says, “And I am a total fan of yours. Well, so is Buffy and Willow. Cordelia for sure, but she’s in Los Angeles now. It’s amazing to meet you. I’m Dawn.”

“I know who it is,” Buffy says with remarkable ease. “I told you we had a guest coming.”

“You did not say it was an important guest. You did not say it was Miranda Priestly. I mean, I totally would have chosen a perfect outfit. I would have prepared! I would have chosen a different look! Now I’m going to be eating with Miranda Priestly in my jeans and t-shirt.”

“Which is fine,” Andy points out. 

“And you! You had to know and you didn’t tell me? I thought we were friends.”

“Dawn.” 

Andy has always wondered how it is that Miranda can speak at a near whisper, and a whole room goes silent. 

Miranda sees several things at once, one of which is of staggering import. If she’d been holding a glass, it was very likely she might have dropped it. As it is, she squeezes Willow’s hands before letting them go. Then takes a moment to take off her glasses and hands them to Andy without glancing at her. She then walks to the distraught girl, until she is standing right in front of her. She lifts the girl’s chin with her fingertips. She gazes into blue eyes that shade to a moss green. “You are unique as you are and needn’t worry. I am here now.” So many pieces are falling into place. She sees both the vulnerable girl and that which she truly is and both are of infinite value and can be hurt and broken so easily.

Dawn blinks, “Well, that’s what I’m saying. You’re here. It’s... it’s...”

“Improbable,” Willow offers with a tiny smile.

“Unlikely,” Tara nods.

“But, not so impossible. I mean, she could have come to visit me, right? Because why?” Andy offers an out, one that won’t compromise them until they are ready to be known.

Dawn blinks and then, as it answers so many questions, she says, “Oh. Right. You know Andy.”

“I do,” confirms Miranda and she gently lets go. 

“So you came to see her.” The girl suddenly relaxes, reassured that the world is orderly and makes sense again.

“Among other things. Which, no doubt, will be discussed at a more appropriate time with those who need to discuss it.”

Dawn smiles then, wide and broad. “Miranda Priestly is in my house and she’s going to have dinner with us.” She turns and then dips around Miranda, breadstick still in hand, and rushes Buffy and hugs her tight. “This has been the best day ever! Are you sure it’s not my birthday?”

Buffy laughs and hugs her sister back, looking at Miranda with gratitude and a touch of speculation. “I’m pretty sure.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner is surprisingly comfortable. If Miranda were worried about standard fare small talk, she is soon disabused of that notion. Apparently, between Willow, Andy and Dawn, tomes of information could be written, dissected and rewritten, just as table conversation. It begins with chemistry in the form of a complaint by Dawn about the boring formulas her teacher makes “them” do, drifts towards alchemical architecture and then drops soundly into magical history. Miranda is amused to listen as Tara drops in tiny bombshell ideas or suggestions just to watch them run with it. She notes that Buffy listens to all of it, absorbing without much comment, but much contentment. When Buffy does speak, it’s to unobtrusively address Miranda, “Yeah. They’re like this all the time.”

“And do they speak of mundane things?”

Buffy gets a wicked gleam in her eye, “Watch.” She then throws out a topic with the starting point of, “Hey Andy, what do you think of the latest poll about ...” It’s as if someone waved a red flag at a bull, they immediately take the topic and run it through and wring it dry and dove-tail it into another hot topic, this time one that is a little less political, but no less illuminating. It is utterly fascinating and so much more interesting than the table-talk she has had to endure at professional galas and conferences.

Miranda is very, very tempted to demand an article from Andrea based on the conversation, but she is sensitive to the fact that she and her ex-assistant have things to work out first. And, if they truly are bond-mates, other issues come into play, though she does trust herself not to play into games of favoritism. She is too habituated to seeking quality. 

She supposes, if it had been other circumstances, she might have had cause to feel a trifle left out, but it is her understanding that she is welcome to join or not at any time and as she wishes. She feels perfectly fine to accompany the young slayer with simply observing. It gives her a chance to contemplate Keys and dream guardians, the vagaries of fate and the unique approach these young woman have toward the life events that have brought them together. 

Inevitably dinner is complete. Buffy says to Dawn, “Ten o’clock. School night.” 

“Ten thirty,” Dawn bargains. 

“Ten,” Buffy says in a no nonsense tone. “Don’t push. We have cool things to show you and you’ll miss out if you make me fight for it.”

Dawn blinks. “Really?”

Willow says, “Really.” Then she looks at the famous editor. “Miranda, would you like to see Andy’s house?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The hallway is large enough to hold them all if they spread a little. Willow does the door introductions, since she’s comfortable with it now. She shows them the little icon, notes that there are two of them, and then proceeds to disappear.

She reappears a few seconds later, and says, “And that’s all there is to it. Okay, follow me.”

Andy comments as she steps out and then disappears, “You know, I think she’d make a great tour guide in another life.” Murmurs of agreement shadow Dawn, who practically leaps forward to be next. She disappears. 

Then she reappears. “This is just like Harry Potter,” she exclaims with glee. Then she steps out and back again, without turning at all. 

“Want to give it a go?” Andy asks Miranda gently. The woman may be the most fearless predator in a sea of business sharks, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have things that give her pause. Like saying goodbye. Or riding elevators with people. 

Miranda gives her an arch look of “don’t be silly,” and Andy steps away to watch as Miranda strolls forward and disappears. 

“She does have a fine, fine ass.” Buffy comments.

“You notice that too?” Andy says, shocked to hear it, but at the time secretly relieved that she’s not the only one to think it.

Tara comments, just as shes about to enter the portal, “I don’t think anyone can possibly miss it. If they are, they they’re simply not paying attention and who doesn’t pay attention to Miranda except when she doesn’t want it?”

“Point,” Andy says as Tara disappears. “Doors locked?” She asks Buffy. It’s a way of seeing if the slayer is coming with or staying behind.

“Locked ship tight. Everything in that needs to be in. Not that this part of the neighborhood needs that worry anymore. Lights are very bright.”

“Nice. Too bad there isn’t a peer reviewed publication for mages. We’d totally smoke ‘em with our projects.”

“Of which there have been two.”

“Very successful two.”

“Are you guys coming or not?” Dawn asks, popping in. “Miranda is loving the fancy coffee maker in your kitchen, Andy. I think she may steal it.”

“She wants it, it’s hers.”

Dawn disappears as Buffy says, “It’s hers anyway, I think.”

Andy grins. “After you?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“I take it back,” Dawn says. “It’s better than Harry Potter. How come we didn’t get the gaming equipment?”

“Because you got the PC?”

“Oh. Right. Not complaining now.” Dawn turns to Andy. “I get to visit. A lot, right?”

“As long as the school and work get done, sure.”

Dawn’s expression turns into one of plotting. “Excellent.”

Andy leans over and comments to Willow, “I still don’t know how it is I got a family room.”

“Maybe it’s for when your parents visit.”

“They don’t really watch TV either.”

Miranda is bemused, but has not commented much. She is still taking it all in. She doesn’t mention that she suspects the houses are still in transformation, as if pieces and ideas are still pulling together and forming the whole. 

“You wanted to show me the yard?”

“Oh. Right.” They have all quietly agreed, other than the one “guest room,” which had been impressively swanky enough, to hold off on introducing any bedrooms that might lead to bedroom like things, while the younger sister is touring with them. “You have to see it to believe it. Buffy’s back yard doesn’t do this at all.”

“Well, there is the door downstairs.”

“I don’t know if that counts as a backyard.”

“Andy said it probably did, though it’s more underground-ish.”

Before a technical discussion can be launched about whether something is or is not a back yard that is not evidenced by being actually behind the house, Tara says, “Let’s go look at the one here first.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It starts off easy enough, they walk onto the porch and then there is a bit of lawn, but just behind the lawn are long, tall, thick trees and a lot of them. Andy points at the pathway and says, “Just so we’re all informed, my backyard used to consist of a few nice trees and flat ground otherwise. Willow, Tara and I made a little sacred space in the middle of the trees and it was nice, simple. Easy to mow.”

“Now it’s a forest, with a pathway that looks like it just got carved in. And the sacred circle has moved a little farther in. You can’t see it from here, where before, you kind of could.” Willow adds.

“And you can hear the creek more than see it, but if you look, you can see the edge of it over there. Note how it seems to stop at the fence. Illusion.” Tara adds.

“It’s a nice creek,” Buffy shrugs. “Has fish in it.”

“It does?” Willow blinks at the blonde in surprise.

“Yep. Saw the swimmers doing their thing while Andy and I were walking.”

“Wow. So there’s an ecosystem. Weird.”

“Magic.”

Dawn props her hands on her hips. “Look. Yeah. Very interesting and all, would anyone really cry if I went and played some games. I got a time limit here.”

“No going out of the house, unless it’s to ours or one of us is with you. Andy’s house is safe, but her neighborhood is still in the dark.”

“Not to worry. I’m not going anywhere. I got things to do and games to beat.” She rubs her hands together like a maniac. Then practically bounces away. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They follow the path. Willow notes the addition of what looks like lantern posts spaced even distances apart. “Was that there before?”

“I don’t remember it,” Andy says.

Buffy just says, “No.”

It doesn’t stop them from going in. The forest thickens, but the path is clear. They arrive in a short time, to a space that is now moderately illuminated by nothing obvious. But what is there, can be seen clearly. 

Willow turns, smile on her face, ready to say something like ta-da, but the words die on her lips.

Miranda’s expression is not one of awe or even surprise or interest. It’s a little angry and kind of scary. 

“Miranda?”

The woman strides forward, gaze narrowed and fiery. She stops just off the circle, with its pulsing white center. Then she gazes around, as if picking out pieces. She spots the altar and the set of her shoulders, which had been hardening, suddenly softens. She goes to it, laying her hands on the ancient surface, feeling warmth and a shocking amount of power thrum from it. But she does turn, intending to say something perhaps slightly, potently, demolishing, and sees four baffled and worried young women. A vision of these four in positions of great intimacy graces her inner eye, along with a memory of their turning to her at that time. Dreamscape or not, she has seen them very vulnerable. She knows they come to this innocently; that they are making the choice, choosing to behave as if it’s the best thing, rather than the scary thing it also truly is. She sees that they are as caught up in the strangeness as she, as taken aback, and that their expression of trepidation is as much for her as for themselves. The accusation dies before it can be flung. 

“Are you okay?” Andy steps toward her, anxious, but she’s too far away to really get to the point of touching.

Miranda glances up and out, allowing herself to take it in, this time without that fierce first emotion of anger. She begins to see the beauty. She says, “The grove is much changed.” She gazes at them, and her expression, while not harsh anymore, is very firm. “My grove is much changed.” She points at the circle. “It now has that.” She exhales, and leans against the altar, like it’s a desk. “And apparently you.” 

They look at each other, still slightly confused. “But...”

Miranda raises her hand. “This forest did not just suddenly spring into being. It has existed. For a very long time. This is a world that you have stumbled upon. My world. One of them, but one of my most important.” She steps away from the altar. “Wait. I could be mistaken, but must see. Perhaps it is a doppleganger, a mystical front that appears like something that is my own.”

She then moves behind the altar and steps toward that space that Andy had mentioned in passing, and is gone.

“Oh boy,” Willow says, feeling a touch of dread. “I think Miranda may be more than just a something more.”

“It doesn’t matter, Wills,” Buffy says calmly, though her arms are folded tightly. “She’s wigging, but she’ll get it together. Shes ours. She knows it. We know it. Makes sense that things combined. She’ll figure it out.”

Time passes and Andy begins to wonder if her cell phone will even work, just in case Miranda has to call. That is, if she’s even on the same planet any more. It’s such a weird thought.

But then, she experiences the feeling of Miranda arriving. 

“Thank goodness,” Tara says, for all of them. 

She appears. She is dressed much more casually, and like them is now wearing jeans, though they are designer classics. She also wears a polo and tennis shoes. She doesn’t apologize for the delay, deciding that the reasons were obvious. 

Andy asks, “And the verdict is?”

“My grove.”

“Our circle? My back yard? Are we going to parcel it out then?”

“Don’t be sharp Andrea. I am not trying to be offensive. I’m merely taken aback. We will not be parceling it, but we perhaps should be discussing protocols. Please understand, this has been a place of refuge for me for a very long time,” she steps away now from the altar and walks toward them. 

“We had no idea that...” Willow began, expression pained.

Miranda reaches out, suddenly, and cups the young woman’s face. Her thumb caresses the soft skin of the young mage’s cheek, easing her distress. “I am not offended, my Willow. I am concerned. I am worried about the implications. But I do not believe that the grove ceases to a place of refuge simply because it is now shared. I just had not expected it.” She lets her hand drop. They both feel the loss of the contact. 

Buffy says quietly, “Everyone needs their quiet spots.”

“Indeed. And I have been using it often of late.”

“We might step on your toes, symbolically speaking. I mean, Tara and I are pretty regular with the magicking and the ceremonies.” Willow says, still concerned, but less traumatized.

“We can make a schedule,” Tara offers. “Or... another circle. You can have this one. We can do our magic elsewhere or our bedroom, like we used to.”

Miranda’s expression warms even more, “If you were meant to do it elsewhere, this would not have happened at all. No, perhaps minor spells elsewhere, but you are meant to be here. As I am meant to be here.” She glances at Andy, who still keeps a careful distance between them. “It is ours, and we will treat it as such.”

“You should know,” Buffy says, “We can reach the grove via my underground-ish space. So, if we have to, we don’t have to take the portal, we can walk from there to here or otherwise. It’s longer though.”

Miranda bites her lip softly and says, “I need to tell you something, because now you need to know it. You pointed out that the creek has fish, and I am sure you can extrapolate that there are obviously other creatures. This world is not unoccupied. It is not as tamed either. There are fierce things and friendly things. There are a people.” Her expression turns stern again and she presses a hand to her heart, before pointing in a direction. “My people. There is a village close enough to walk. I would appreciate it if you leave them be for now, until I can introduce you properly.”

“Would that be on the other side of the creek?”

“Barrier,” Buffy mentions. “Yeah, we felt that. We won’t go looking for them, but if they find us, we won’t hide either. It’s our backyard now. We’ll just be good neighbors, like always. I will avoid the slaying unless there is unnecessary death by bloodsucking.”

Miranda blinks, then nods. “Yes. Good. Acceptable.” Then she exhales as if a great weight has been lifted. She says a very rare thing, “Thank you.”

Feeling as if things are as resolved as they’re going to be, Tara says, “Do you want to see your door?”

“My door?”

“At Andy and our houses? We both have one. It’s been waiting for you.”

“Tara, I think I hear a hint of impatience.”

The blonde merely smiles. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“We think you have to activate them. But we’re not entirely sure how and...,” now Willow pauses. Then she says, “You really don’t have to. Unless you want to. We’ll understand.”

“Trust us. We really will,” Buffy reiterates. Living on the hellmouth puts such things in perspective. “If you want to wait or to never do it at all, we are fine with it. We just wanted you to know it was here and what we think it’s for.”

Miranda lays a palm on the flat of the door, considering. On the one hand, she can see the purpose. On the other, the houses it connects to are in a dangerous location. Then again, New York has its portals and dangers too.

But the truth is, no one has had a straight shot to her home except for herself for a very long time. And she originally intended that only her children should have access, once the time came for such things. It is one of the ways she keeps her home safe. 

Frankly, she does not yet know what to do, although she does know the how. All she has to do is open one of the doors, and she is fairly certain that chains of events will flow from there. The door would take it as permission given.

“Forgive me if I wait,” she finally says. “I can always go home through the grove.” She deliberately leaves out the parts where it gives her absolute control, that she is not sure she knows them well enough, that the ability of others to just waltz into her life scares her in some ways more than whatever mysterious forces are otherwise in play. 

No one speaks of unfairness or asks why or makes any demand.

Buffy shrugs and then speaks for them all. “Okay.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Before they leave for the the Summers’, Andy silently offers a set of keys to Miranda. She imagines that the key chain probably makes the editor wince inside; its topper is an acrylic Sunnydale UC logo. But it holds a key to Andy’s actual front door and a key to her Lexus. 

Miranda lifts her palm and the young woman lets them drop into her hands. Andy now stands at half an arms length away. It’s the closest they’ve been since her arrival. 

The editor’s hand wraps around the keys, claiming them. She understands that Andy has traversed a barrier that she is unable to just yet. And still they hold themselves apart. She pockets the keys without a word. 

The others have left, and one might think this would be the time to hash it out. Apparently the young brunette does not. “After you,” Andy says. She keeps her expression friendly and neutral and it hides the turmoil she feels to some extent. She holds the door open for Miranda. 

She asks without looking at the girl, “Why did you sleep with Christian Thompson?”

“It was Paris and my boyfriend, Nate, had broken up with me. You didn’t need me as anything other than an assistant and I … I was bruised.”

The puzzle piece doesn’t just slide into place, it slams down hard. Miranda closes her eyes against the thought of time wasted. She reminds herself of what she ignored in the beginning; there was always a connection and it stayed. “Were you dreaming of me, even then?”

“Yes.” Andy does not look at her, but rather at the empty space of the faux closet. 

Translation: Despite the physical break, Andrea had never truly left her. The awareness of that simple truth changes the scope of absolutely everything. “The last few weeks without even the dream you have been a travesty. I should have rested, but there is so much to do. We have missed each other tremendously, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” She does not have to say how unfathomable the depths have been or how inexplicable. It’s all in her voice.

Miranda reaches out then, touches Andy’s face with her fingertips. She feels the slow slide moisture and wipes it away. Then, without another word, she steps through the door.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It takes a few minutes for Andy to compose herself. When she arrives, the hallway is empty, but she hears voices, both masculine and feminine coming from the front room. Ah. Xander and Anya have arrived.

She walks in fairly unobtrusively, sees Miranda sitting on one of the soft seats, legs crossed comfortably and arms on the armrests, while Dawn stands before her, apparently introducing the two as fellow Scoobies. Anya is blinking as if she can’t believe she’s standing in front of someone very important and Xander seems a little distracted. He spots Andy and offers a half wave. Then he turns and does a double-shoot motion, “Hey, real nice to meet you, but I gotta take a personal moment. Back in five.”

He doesn’t quite jog past Andy, but she sees him head down the hallway. She turns to watch, meaning to warn, but he actually moves pretty quickly. He finds the door where the bathroom used to be, opens it, walks forward and bounces right back, very forcefully. He staggers as he pushes off the wall, his expression astonished.

“Buffy!” His voice carries, “Your bathroom’s gone and the closet that replaced it hates me!”

“Xander,” Andy doesn’t quite bark, but she manages to get his attention. She points. “Two doors down. Right side.” She doesn’t mention that the door he just tried actually goes to her place. It’s not necessary and now she knows it is exclusive; which is kind of reassuring.

The young man looks at her, then jogs in the direction pointed, looks to the right. Grabs the door handle. This time he moves slowly and walks in, cautiously. A light flicks on and he steps out, offers Andy a thumbs up before re-entering and closing the door firmly behind him. 

Andy turns around again, steps more into the front room and says, bemusedly, “I guess that answers that.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Anya and Xander don’t stay long, though the young man offers to join them on the slay-team. Buffy declines. They’ve worked all day and she still has plenty of energy. She glances at Andy, who offers a small nod. She has her back up. “Don’t worry about it. We got it covered tonight. You two going to be okay going home?”

Anya’s attention has been flipping back and forth between Andy and Miranda. She’s not exactly been un-obvious about it, but neither woman has seemed inclined to say anything about it either. She finally focuses on Buffy and says, “Xander’s a good driver. We will be alright.” Then she blinks and snaps her fingers. “Oh. Yes. There was a reason we came. We’ve got a hammer. Found it in the very back. We were going to use it for the display, but Giles thought you might want it. He’s giving it to you for free.” Anya doesn’t say what she thinks of that notion, but it’s still very clear in her soured expression. 

Andy blinks. “Oh. Well. Let’s go see this.”

While the others stay behind, she, Xander and Anya head out to his truck. He opens the door and pulls out a box. He holds it with both hands, holding it tight against him for extra leverage, before he extends it to her. “Careful, it’s heavy.”

She takes it, also in both hands. It does weigh a bit, but it’s not too hard for her to lift. She considers opening the box, but changes her mind. “Hey safe driving home. Thank you!”

Xander smiles easily, but his eyes are wide and he secretly checks his arms to make sure he’s still got muscle. He had no idea Andy was Buffy strong, but a part of him realizes, he maybe should have. “Sure, no problem. Try not drop it. That’s the sort of thing that ruins toes.”

“Gotcha.” They get in the truck and she watches as they leave. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“I am desperately trying not to sing if I had a hammer,” Willow says.

“We thank you for your effort,” Buffy replies. 

Andy has opened the box. Safely embedded within is a well worn work hammer, one designed to withstand the forger’s fire. “Well, here’s hoping I don’t become Thorina.” The four younger women giggle, but Miranda’s expression takes on a certain alarm. Andy reaches in and then she picks up the hammer, one handed. 

“Oh. Nice.” She wiggles it. “Good balance.” She nods to herself and them. “Yeah, it’s a nice little hammer.”

Tara mouths, “Little?”

Willow shrugs. 

Andy’s expression turns speculative. “I wonder if we can get some tongs at Bill’s.”

“Probably,” Buffy says. “May I?”

“Oh sure.” Andy extends the hammer. Buffy’s hand wraps around it just above hers. Andy lets go. 

Buffy’s hand drops a little with the weight, but she does manage to keep it. “I may borrow this for some lifting exercises,” she comments. She then moves her arm back and forth. “Oh yeah. This has heft to it.”

Miranda eyes them both and is relieved that there has been no sudden amazing transformations. 

“Mind if I leave it here while we go off and knock heads?” Andy inquires.

“Sure, why not.”

“Wait,” Miranda says, suddenly needing clarification. “What are you two going to be doing?”

“Patrolling.” Tara offers.

“Staking.” Buffy says.

“Dusting.” Andy adds.

“Possibly punching noses.” Willow concludes. “It depends on what they find and how many there are. If it’s really messy, they’ll give us a call.”

“And you just stay behind and...”

The girls laugh, not at her. “No. We’ve been out patrolling, but it’s not our night. We usually go out with Xander. Sometimes Xander and Andy. Sometimes Giles. Sometimes Buffy. It depends. Bigger nights need more people. And tonight, actually, I have some studying to catch up on.”

“Me too,” Tara shrugs.

Miranda is very nonplussed. She gazes at those who are about to patrol. “I will observe, but I won’t interfere.” She sniffs lightly. “Barring surprises.”

Andy opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it closed. That’s not the tone of voice one argues with.


	10. Chapter 10

With Dawn safely tucked in bed and Willow and Tara acting as guardians, Andy, Buffy and Miranda set off, with the editor between the two young women. They walk, because Buffy likes to start with the cemetery closest to her house. “You can’t hit all of them in one night,” the blonde says. This is why she sets a pace that is not overly fast. “So I try to pick the one’s that set off the spidey-sense or I’ll read the newspaper and see who has been buried where and if it’s suspicious or Willow will pull something from her database. Then I’ll just go and wait. Can’t let the new one’s get far, because they have no control, only hunger and a lot of times, they’ll go out seeking friends and family and then it j gets ugly, real fast.”

“I still can’t see why it’s been a one person job,” Andy says. “I mean, until recently. By all accounts vampires and critters of the eat-people sort exist all over this world. So, there’s one whole person to cover the territory of a whole planet. Somethings very, very off about that.”

“Well, it’s not entirely like that. Watchers train slayers, which does take up some of the slack ...”

“Don’t even get me started on the wrongness that is that whole damn council and their so called training system,” Andy snarls with a glower. She pretty well hates them for the way they’ve treated her Buffy, but that’s not the only reason she despises them. “The only one worth anything is Giles and he’s not a watcher any more.”

“Well, and Wesley. He was alright. It just took him a little while to see the big picture. I hear he’s doing pretty well in Los Angeles.”

“Okay, I’ll give you Wesley, though I don’t know him.”

“Anyhow,” Buffy says, moving on, “one does what one can.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They pace around her, always keeping Miranda in sight, but still wandering the grounds with quiet purpose. She stays on the carefully lined out pathways, away from actual graves, away from any new diggings. They explain why, though she already knows. She also knows, that if she’d been a normal person, she would have been feeling both worried and guilty by now for ‘getting in their way.’ Honestly, however, she is finding it all quite fascinating. 

It has been a long time since she’s been on a hunt and most battles she has seen of late, haven’t really been a case of seen or even of her doing; more a case of reported and watched as one might watch from a stadium or the safety of one’s tower. 

It is also interesting to observe two different styles interplay with each other. Buffy strolls, almost as if she is bored or at the mall. Andy prowls, covering territory in long strides and coming back to circle around both she and Buffy. 

It occurs to Miranda that this is a side of the brunette that she never anticipated, never visualized. She had observed Andrea hone her softness into something sharper while at Runway, and still remembered the day that the thought of hurting someone offended her enough to leave. Yet, as she watches this young woman, she can not help but sense the danger in her walk, in her eyes. Andrea has changed.

Further in to their walk, she feels a vibrational change, mere seconds before she sees her companions’ heads swivel in a particular direction. She wonders if she ought to say anything, but they are already on the move, coming in at two directions. Though she is tempted, she stays on the path as promised. She has no intention of being ‘made’ to go home. So she watches, from a ‘safe’ distance as a creature of the night seems to pop out of a grave like toast from a toaster oven. 

She hears Buffy offer a taunt, verbal bait to stir the vampire into reacting rather than thinking. It flows toward the young woman, all teeth and growls, arms lifted and face shifted. Miranda holds back from her first impulse to protect the slayer, especially when she sees that Andy also waits, but not as an act of hesitation. Her ex-employee simply observes, stake in hand, as Buffy gets in the first, permanently ending strike. 

It’s a matter of few seconds. 

She watches as Andy and Buffy offer feral smiles to one another before peeling away, to find their next ‘victim’.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Not all fledglings wake alone or unguarded. Two cemetery walks later, by which time they’ve established a certain rhythm, the atmosphere of intention changes. Buffy and Andy now circle in protectively around her, rather than out seeking in outward spirals. Their body language changes from casual dalliance, to attentive patrol. “Maybe we should come back later?” Andy offers, even knowing that Miranda is more. It doesn’t change that she still sees her with the filters of their previous relationship. And then, there is the deeper level, the need to protect what is theirs.

“They’ll be gone by then.”

“I can handle myself,” Miranda reminds them, not quite chiding. 

“I’d rather they not get near you,” Andy says. Her eyes are very dark at the moment, pupils wide to take in what light is available. Her expression is very intent, and not one that Miranda has ever seen on her before. It’s a mix of animal awareness and hidden might.

“We’ll dust them before that happens,” Buffy says, firmly and with a hint of a growl. The sound sends trickles of pleasurable anticipation along Miranda’s spine. 

As if the declaration is the signal, both Andy and Buffy’s attention pivot out. They glance back and then, before Miranda can say anything, they run. 

She had no idea either of them could move that fast. She’d sort of accommodated herself to the leisurely pace. 

As no one is paying any attention to her at the moment, she decides to watch from a different vantage point. She walks and the ground rises under her feet, becoming a small, not too inconvenient hill. A gardener might be confused at the change, but the ordinary person will never notice. She turns then, to observe what is making all that noise. What she sees takes her aback, as both women are in mid-battle, fighting all out and surrounded by much greater number of combatants; not all of which are vampires.

It’s rough and tumble, as the the multitude crowd the two, like football players trying to take the quarterback down. Miranda sees puffs of dust erupt and blanket out over milling group. It reminds her, in an almost comical way, of cartoons she’s seen in the past, where one observes arms and legs erupting out of a cloud, while hearing the sound of horrible snarling ruckus. It’s like that, only, much more tangible and she can smell that blood and ichor has been, is being, spilled. 

Still she holds back, needing to understand what the limits are and not yet having a sense of whether she ought to intervene and fearing that she might reveal too much of herself too soon if she does. 

She sees a very big non-human involuntarily fly up and away from the fight. It lands several feet away from all of them, with a crumpling wet sound and does not move again. The numbers thin quickly after that, dusted and demolished. It gets to the point that the creatures start running away, but by that time, the women they thought of as prey have earned their predator’s stripes and have no interest in losing their hunt. The creatures are dragged back, screaming with fright, and encountering their own daggers for an ending.

It is all over in a few minutes. Miranda breathlessly watches as the women emerge from the dark plume of dust, bloody and blooded. Their clothes are an utter ruin. They pace toward her quickly, prioritizing her over themselves. They glance around, vision never still, checking to see if any were missed, if any are near, if she is alright. She hears the underthrum of near growls. Andy turns from Miranda to look out and the editor sees an indefinable glow underneath the collar of the young woman’s jacket.

Buffy says, “Don’t go home tonight, Andy. Stay with me.”

“I’ll be fine,” the writer husks, voice low and dangerous. 

“You’ll dream.”

Andy shrugs. “Always do anyway. Used to it by now.” Her unwillingness to discuss the matter makes her unusually taciturn. Buffy narrows her eyes, but does not pursue the matter. The editor gets the feeling it’s a topic much visited. She glances at Miranda. “Anything bother you?”

The editor does not say that she has plenty of things bothering her. She recognizes the meaning behind the question. “Nothing touched me.”

“Good,” Buffy says. She points at the remains, “Think you can handle those?”

At first Miranda thinks that Buffy is addressing her, but then Andy lopes away. She bends over the bodies and the editor realizes that she’s searching them. Then, brief, bright flashes of light later and nothing is left as evidence. Andy comes back, nods to Buffy. “Give it all to you later.”

Buffy’s lips curl into a dangerous smile, “Yes. You will.” 

Then, the brunette utters words that sound like nonsense, but aren’t, and waves her hand gently. They and their clothes are cleaned, repaired. They writer’s eyes glow with power for a few brief seconds and then the glow fades to gold around the iris. They seem to take such a thing for granted.

Buffy, without thought, reaches and takes Andy’s hand, squeezing it. She looks deeply into the young woman’s eyes as if checking for something. Then nods as if she decides that limits have not been reached yet. “Come on. One more, then we’ll check the Bronze and call it quits for tonight.”

Miranda realizes several things. Andrea has some very serious secrets and she is stubborn about them. Buffy knows some of those secrets. Money is enough of an issue that they scavenge. The women are on the edge of aroused, certainly impassioned, by the battle. Finally, Willow and Tara are not called to clean up after every fight, because, apparently, Andrea handles the smaller clean ups, which has some very potent, frightening implications about what these people face when they do call in the back up. And, apparently Andrea has the power to handle them, but Buffy fears the kind of side effects that makes her demand that the writer stay with her at night. Yet they use the powers anyway, because they must. 

Miranda deliberately keeps her expression inscrutable when they start walking again.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda has been in clubs of all sorts, of all variations and on more planar levels than she cares to admit. The Bronze does not stand out because of its clientele, design or music. It stands out because it is the only nightclub in a city of thirty eight thousand that allows minors to participate, which makes it astoundingly popular. 

It also makes it a huge lure to creatures seeking an easy catch. Personally, she thinks it makes those beings lazy. 

They do not wait outside, lurking in the dark, but Buffy takes her hand and leads her in. They are followed by a watchful Andrea. It is late, on a school night and the club is still heavily populated. Miranda realizes that by appearances alone she is the oldest one there, not that anyone really bothers to look. People are in their own little conversational, dancing niches, though she sees sparks of recognition; sometimes very surprised. 

Runway, she is reminded in a more visceral way than usual, is a world-wide magazine. And, as she gazes around, expression thoughtful, she can not critique this California town for lacking in style.

Buffy tugs her toward the dance floor. Miranda, resists. Her thoughts quickly cover territory already tread within; the appearances, the possible outcomes and consequences, what it means to be seen in public and known. Then she feels Andrea’s hand at her back, firm and tangible. 

“No reporters here, Miranda. Except for me, and I won’t tell,” the writer says. Then she smiles, “And it’s Sunnydale. Did you know that every article that I sent from here, which had this town’s name in it, disappeared; unless it went to my family? And then, if they sent it on, the name was changed anyway. And as for what people think...”

Miranda wasn’t entirely sure how she’d managed to be drawn to the middle of the floor, but she was very, very aware of when Buffy’s arm’s snugly wrap around her waist and then Andrea’s over hers. The brunette’s breath flows over her ear, “... they’ll keep it to themselves. All anyone wants to do here is dance and forget.” 

The dance is sensual rather than overtly sexual; more like a long, extended hugging caress. Their bodies press, but their hands are careful. They are very guarded in how they touch her; not as in, she might break, but as in, they are aware of who she is, and what she worries about, despite their reassurances. She glances around and sees that they are not alone. Other people dance, some couples, some more, some individually. She begins to understand that this is the style, the setting. Andrea is right, no one will draw a wrong impression; or more importantly, the right impression. They will only see people dancing. 

She wonders how long the Bronze has been like this, and if, in this strange valley, the other clubs also have this unique... feature.

Buffy smiles, “You’re thinking too hard, Miranda. Just dance. If you fall, we’ll catch you.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The battle after their brief respite in the Bronze is somewhat anti-climatic. Buffy makes a phone call, they exit the building, then a brace of challengers and it is puffs of dust later. Soon a smiling Willow arrives in the Jeep. It’s one am and she’s still perky. 

It occurs to the goddess that not once has anyone questioned her abilities, whether it pertained to keeping up or being able to defend herself. They have not asked her if she’s sleepy or nor did they ask if she wanted to go home early. She realizes that they did not fail to ask out of fear. Aside from their obviously protective demeanor, which she intuits may not have been entirely thought out on their part, they simply accepted that she would know her own limits. She finds that deeply refreshing.

Miranda takes shotgun, sliding in with an ease that speaks of long practice, which causes Andy’s expression of stubbornness to finally change. It is good to know that she can still surprise the young woman. The editor lets a smirk tug the edges of her mouth as the vehicle starts. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It occurs to Miranda that while she, as divinity, always had a means to go home, the actual mode is no longer an issue. She can come and go as she wills, she can sleep in her own bed tonight. The sense of reluctance she feels is not necessarily a surprise, but she also feels a need for distance. As they pull up to the Summers’ residence, she makes her decision. And, as she always has been, she is blunt about the matter. “I will be staying at the townhouse for the rest of the night. I will return tomorrow and then, I expect, we will discuss practicalities.”

Andy starts to speak, but Buffy’s hand on her thigh stops her. The blonde offers a tight smile, “It’s late, and Willow and Tara have school tomorrow, but Andy doesn’t. I won’t guarantee that we’ll just sleep tonight. We have catching up to do.”

Miranda nods, “I accept the consequences of my decisions, but I have decisions to make still.”

“Not decisions, conclusions. I don’t think you can work around this one by merely deciding to,” Buffy articulates. “However, none of us will stop you from doing what you think you need to do. At least not yet. On the other hand, if it comes to it, I’ll fly out to New York, if I have to. I’ve been known to travel for important things.”

Miranda gazes at Buffy and wonders just how far she has traveled. She suspects very long distances that she has yet to discover.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The night sky seems brighter in Andy’s back yard. The steps off her porch, but appears indecisive. Yet, as Miranda starts forward, so does she and though her pace is slower, the editor gets a sense that Andy is still guarding her, even in this safe space. 

They walk in silence down the pathway, under the stars and then the tall trees. The lights of the lanterns flicker on as they come close, one at a time and then flicker off as they finish passing. When they arrive, the ambient glow in the garden brightens, as if invisible lanterns had been set alight. 

Miranda keeps walking, until she’s at the side of the Altar, then she stops and Andy stops with her. The silver haired woman turns to the brunette. “Andrea,” she starts. She feels things she wants to say, the need to articulate a regret, to heal the hurt that framed their losses. 

Andy, for the first time, now really reaches out, and takes her hand. The clasp is firm and lightly tingles between them. She says, “It’s okay, MIranda. Go home and rest. Sleep if you need to. I’ll try not to...”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you know that’s the one thing I looked forward to?”

“I didn’t... I....”

“I wish you’d go and stay with Buffy tonight.” The words are spoken softly, graced with concern. “I would stay, because...” She does not want to say how shocking it was to see her Andrea blooded and bloody. So she says instead, another truth, “I think you need someone with you now, Andrea. And I would that it were me, but I need to be able to think, as … my higher calling, not just as your lover. This change affects many things, many things, Andrea. Not just us.”

Andy gazed Miranda thoughtfully, then said, “I just toss and turn when I sleep. It makes me uncomfortable to think that others are watching.” Then she relented, “But, I’ll... Okay.”

Miranda squeezed the younger woman’s hand lightly. “I do wonder why we two, of all of us, are so shy with one another, when...”

Suddenly, at last, Andrea laughs and it is the full bodied sound that Miranda remembered. It eases the growing ache in her heart by leaps. “I know! I think... for so long, it was just an impossible, wonderful dream and now it’s just... a little too close. But, Miranda, I want it. I want it... You. More than words can convey.”

“Yes.” MIranda nods, unable to say more either. She still doesn’t understand this inexplicable longing for this girl, but she knows now, that she is not just a girl. Not any more. Maybe she never was. “Shall we say, may reality surpass the dreams, very soon?”

“I would like that. I would like that very much.”

Miranda leans and kisses her Andrea on the cheek. Then, without saying goodbye, she lets go of the younger woman’s hand and steps away and disappears.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andrea stays for awhile, as if expecting Miranda to return, but really, she doesn’t. She just needs the moment of quiet. She consider that what the place could use is some seating, when for a few seconds she actually thinks of sitting on the altar. She knows, however, that would be disrespectful, and one thought leads to the other; until she finally contemplates what the altar may be about and how it might be used. 

She moves closer to it, not touching, just looking and to insure that this remains the case, she folds her hands behind her back. She leans close, just to see it clearly. She realizes it is a very large, single carved stone and that, as she observed before, it’s very old. She observes that there have been spills over the edges, which have darkened over the years, and hesitates to wonder what kind. She knows from her research that it could be blood as much as anything else. She does note, and is comforted by the fact, that there are no obvious grooves lined into the surface, no holes that lead to the ground. This tells her that this altar’s sacrifices, have not been about insanguination; at least, not on a regular basis. 

And, she tells herself, “Of course not,” while wondering why she even had the idea it might be in the first place. Except, in her mind’s eye, she has the feeling of dreams remembered, of experience with such things. It causes her to shudder delicately.

Perhaps Miranda and Buffy have been right to call on her need to have someone near this night. She finds, now that she’s had such grim thoughts, she’s reluctant to spend the rest of the night alone and that she feels suddenly tired; from so many things. She exhales and turns, stepping away. 

It’s time to go home.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Somehow, Andy thinks she should be unsurprised to find her slayer bond-mate waiting for her on the back porch. The small blonde holds two bottles and extends one to the brunette as soon as she draws near enough to grasp it. “Hi. Thought you could use this.”

“I’m staying with you tonight.”

Buffy’s smile is gentle. “Well, that’s good, since I planned on staying with you.” She wraps her arm around Andy’s waist, and walks her back into the house. It feels easy, natural. 

As if it is and always has been meant to be. 

Andy tips the beer into her mouth, feels the draught’s coolness slide across her tongue in that sweet bitter way. Then a few seconds later, she feels the first buzz as the mild alcohol hits. She sighs.

Buffy grins and says, remembering a phrase that has been an occasional tease at friendly picnics for those who had been through that particular life experience with her, “Beer Good!”

Andy starts to chuckle, then she grins back at the young blonde. “Yes. Yes it is.” 

Something in Buffy’s eyes catches her attention and Andy leans forward quickly and offers a lightning strike kiss, intending to withdraw. But Buffy holds the back of her head in place and the kiss slides past that first amusing press and into something much more sultry. The heat of it burns even more strongly than the beer and creates a new kind of shiver in the brunette, and she realizes, dreams aside, it really has been a very long time since she has been with anyone this way. The kiss slows and Buffy finally frees her. 

The gaze they hold with each other destroys Andy’s need for a beer. She places the bottle on the first flat surface they pass by and hers is not alone. 

Then, like in the movies, in the romance novels, they press against one another with a breath and need so strong that it scores and scares them. What they can not do is ignore it. They stumble upstairs, mouths and hands and everything touching and summoning. Jackets are shed and dropped, forgotten. Shirts are tugged open roughly. Buttons are lost. 

The door is open, though Andy could swear they’d closed it earlier, but she can’t find it in her mind to argue about it. They move into the room, desperately shimmying out of the rest of their clothes. “Shower?”

Oh. Right. Yes. 

Andy pulls back, thinking that Buffy means to stop, but no. She was merely being redirected. 

The water is hot and delicious, just like Buffy’s body against her. Andy lifts her lover, pressing her against the wall, one strong leg between the blonde’s thighs. Buffy’s fingers dig into her back, strong, but not crushing. Despite the need, they are both careful, both aware of hidden strengths. The water sluices down their skin, cleaning away things other than grime with the help of soap and time. 

They do manage the feat, of somehow holding back, enough. In some ways, even as they dry each other off, they are much wetter outside of the shower than in it. It causes smiles that are just on the edge of shy and knowing. 

The bed invites them, and once the covers are thrown back, they slide onto the soft, welcoming surface and meet in the middle. Andy reclines on her side, hand on Buffy’s hip, bringing her closer. Their kisses slow, but the heat really does not. It’s just they know the destination now, know that this is a time to be cherished. Touches flow in intimate caress as they take time to genuinely explore, causing skin and heart to sing with pleasure. 

Eventually Buffy and Andy’s gentle searching finds the hidden, deeper spaces. Their articulations change, from soft loving words to ancient sweetening cries. They shift and open, receiving each other, filling one another with tender urgency until they forget to hold back, forget to hide from each other any more. It is no one spark that sets loose the greater elation, the potent song. It bursts and flowers a divine linking bliss through them, until they can’t hold it anymore and it pours like light though them. 

Buffy opens her eyes slowly. Her expression is tender. Andy opens her eyes to gaze warmly back at her. They curl into and hold one another. Buffy reaches with one arm to pull the covers up. The slayer smiles. “Dream well,” she whispers.

Andy kisses her warmly, and knows that for the first time, in a very long time, she will.


	11. Chapter 11

The sensation which washes through the brunette, slides powerfully through her skin and knocks her back to the ground. She lays where she fell, crumpled against a wall for support, her long, straight dark-brown hair askew and feathered over her shoulders. Anguish crosses her strikingly beautiful features, but she closes her brown eyes lest those around her see that the next feeling which runs through her is not pain, but outrage. 

She should have been in Sunnydale.

No, Cordelia Chase corrects herself, she should have been in LA fighting against the wild-hare impulse to go to Sunnydale. She should have been griping about invasive dreams to her ghost, which now are not happening, and she should have been able to gloat when one of at least three of the women finally cracked and came to get her. She was now sure it would have been Willow. And she has the sense of her two others, who had been part of this new thing. In another life, which she had dreamed and seen, she had been looking forward to meeting the people who discombobulated Buffy’s world. 

But now, no. She didn’t have any of that. Those she had been meant for had no idea they were missing a piece. They had no idea what they were doing to her, and apparently no inhibition to hold them back. She aches constantly for them and the days and months she has given up counting are passing with no obvious clue as to how to get back. All she has managed to do is carve out some sanctuary and personal power, because, for once, the gift Doyle passed on, is useful and accurate. Though it is still utterly, screamingly painful.

She wants to blame Angel. He would be such a convenient target for the rage and loneliness festering in her heart, but really, how could she? After all, he had come to Pylea to rescue her. It had been the return trip that was the trouble. She remembers jumping into the portal that was supposed to take them home, and the sensation of heading one way, then a magic cascade, pleasurable though it was, which pushed her in a totally other direction and boom, a bounce against a barrier that wasn’t supposed to be there and suddenly she’s not at home and not where she had originally been either.

A snarl curls her lips, just as human-looking, though some were not human at all, persons start to reach to assist her. They back away, wisely. They have learned that she will not always stay still for people to manhandle her into rest. The young woman is a force to be reckoned.

She forces herself to open her eyes and then to stand regally. She does not ignore them, as that would be rude, but her words are perhaps cooler than she might have intended. “I will be in my chambers. It wasn’t anything important. Continue on.”

“Shall we send someone to soothe the pain?”

“No,” Cordelia says, too sharply. Then she backs off, again, striving to find her center. “I’ll just have to deal with it.” Like usual. 

She pauses at the door, before exiting and turns, allowing her expression to soften. What she is going through now is not any of these person’s fault and all they have ever done is helped. They might be used to her terseness after vision, but they do not deserve it; especially since this time it wasn’t a vision that has incapacitated her. “I thank you for the offer and your kindness.” Then she leaves, not knowing if it even matters that she tried to ease things a little. 

It does, more than she knows. She has no idea how much these people love and respect her, nor how much they worry for her.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Cordelia has no real idea where she is, except elsewhere. The natives call the planet Torisa and somehow, they all understood her and she them. She finds it very ironic that she is much wealthier in this world than her own, though she doesn’t even keep most of it. 

She remembers.

It had been sheer luck all the way. She had arrived in the outskirts of one of the more popular cities, where adventurers, tourists and pilgrims flocked. Cerundus’ citizens were used to foreigners and didn’t even blink at her strangeness. She’d walked in through the great golden Gates of Miran, a protective edifice that made her think of roman pillars, and found shelter within a day of arrival. 

She’d gained a lot of skill and self-sufficiency working at the agency. She had a working knowledge of things magical and mystical, she had fighting skills that had grown in leaps over the years and she was a very, very intelligent woman who knew how to play beautiful well. She had outgrown being a kidnap-magnet and become something quite other than what she used to be, including being known for her compassion. Though she still held the killer tongue and honest bluntness in her arsenal.

Understanding the possibilities of her location came together in one of those vast markets that seemed to be strewn about the city, where she contemplated whether she would have anything worth trading in her bag, which lucky her, had come through too, and she was discarding ideas left and right. Make up she could probably have sold, but there was no way she was giving up the thing that gave her an edge. Paper and pen were too valuable a commodity. She had a small arsenal, but that she might need. She saw people wandering around with swords, axes, knives and other weapons and that told her already she was in a dangerous world. 

She considered that she might have to let go of her jewelry, and knew an instance of regret for the thought. She only had a few pieces, but she had finally moved past fake into the real again and she was going to feel the loss. However, if selling a ring meant she could get shelter, food and a bit of safety, then that is what she would do. 

From there it was a matter of finding the local equivalent of a jeweler, watching how much things were bought and sold for and then bargaining. It wasn’t hard or even inconvenient, just a matter of selection. She chose one based on the number of people who entered, the way they dressed and their expression of satisfaction. She even took a moment to interview one or two people, with short, easy questions of, “Is he fair? Is he good?”

“She is,” was the answer and Cordelia knew she could do business. 

While not necessarily brightly lit, the jeweler’s space was open and welcoming; as was the jeweler herself. The woman had waited patiently while Cordelia browsed and observed and then, when it seemed like they were both ready to talk, the bargaining had happened as naturally as picking a flower. 

The jeweler had been impressed with the ring, the small cut stones, which were interestingly arranged. She had even said, “I can not pay all this is worth...”

Cordelia had already known that. “Well, I don’t need just money. I need a safe place to stay and someone who knows the layout of the city. I need food and...” She looked down at herself, “... clothes. And other things.”

“I can give you gold and script. The script will help with the services you require and the gold can be exchanged for goods. I know people and I know someone who can help you find a place.”

Cordelia had smiled then, forgetting the power of that smile for a moment, “Then we have an agreement.”

“I...” the woman had been dazzled, but she had nodded and then mentally added to the original tally she had intended, “... yes. We do.”

An hour later, by Cordelia’s watch, and she had a place to stay and was being guided through the busy spaces by a smiling youth. He practically bounced when he walked, fast paced like a child of the city could be, yet always attentive to where he was and the fact he was her guide. He took her to a clothier, where she might find outfits that suited her purpose.

As soon as they walked in she felt immediately at home. Just as she knew jewelry, she knew clothes. The boy had introduced her to the matron and then it was a matter of making selections and getting fitted. She was suddenly grateful that slacks, though that wasn’t the name for them, were not a forbidden item. The skirt length depended on the occupation and the time of day and some arcane details that she did not understand. She was simply grateful she did not have to dress like princess Leia. She’d said that out loud.

The boy, his back turned, had asked her, when he’d overheard her comment, “You know princesses?”

From the way his voice sounded, she imagined his eyes were very wide when he asked. She had considered for a moment and then, because it was a form of truth, had answered, “I used to. It’s been awhile. At my last job I met a few too.”

Because conversing is a way to pass time, the person assisting with the fitting had asked, “What was your last job.”

Cordelia had choked back her first answer of, “Saving the world.” But the woman had looked up at her as if she’d heard it and the truth behind the thought anyway. Then she’d quickly turned her head and Cordelia had answered with the more modest response of, “This and that. It’s hard to describe. I got to travel some, but mostly tried to help people.” Which was true. She just didn’t mention all the fighting and bloodshed and aching headaches and learning to really be a team player that had become her life. She was a long way from being the made-herself-the-secretary she’d started out as and even farther from the teenager. 

The seamstress had said then, “I will include warriors wear in your collection.”

The boy had swiveled then, “You’re a warrior?”

“Head turned,” the seamstress had ordered, and the boy had forced his attention back to the other wall. 

Cordelia had closed her eyes, “I can’t claim that. I was going to be an actress.”

“The gods put us where we are meant to be,” the seamstress had said with equanimity, while the boy took that as an answer of yes. It was his, short, but expansive experience, that most of the good warriors were humble about it. 

Cordelia had held the snap she felt wanting to burst from her mouth, bit it back. It wouldn’t do to argue with the person who had the pointy, sharp scissors near delicate locations. The conversation lagged after that, but Cordelia walked out with more good than she entered, in local styles that flattered, but allowed for her modern sensibilities. The boy carried them. She found out his name was Kyledemen. She called him Kyle, which he did not mind, since his name got shortened all the time.

For the next day or two, while she acclimated and considered whether she needed to find a real job or not, he was her guide to the world. Kyle was with her when she visited the local savings and loan and stored what wealth she had, including the rest of her jewelry. He was with her when she visited the local library and discovered that while she might speak and hear well enough, writing and reading might be a problem. The boy didn’t know how to write or read either. He merely shrugged at her dismay, “You can always hire a scribe.”

“It’s like having your own ride,” she had tried to explain, “You don’t know how convenient it is until you don’t have it any more. I was hoping I might be able to use writing as a skill.”

“Oh. So you’re a scribe? I thought you were a warrior.”

She looked at the boy very seriously and said, “It’s possible to be both.”

A grey-bearded man, who was passing by, had stopped and said, “The woman is wise, son. I’d listen to her,” and then he’d introduced himself. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was hoping to browse, but I think I’ll have to pass.”

“I know someone who teaches. I will give you their name.”

Thus, Kyle was with her when she went to visit the tutor slash scribe. The scribe, unfortunately, had not been as open minded as the man who made the recommendation. The boy had said, as they left, “I don’t think he liked women much.”

“Some people are like that,” Cordelia had said evenly. Though she’d gotten in a few admirable wordy stabs at the so-called tutor, “They have issues. You can’t wait for them to change, it’ll just damage you.”

“I can try and find someone else if you’d like.”

“No. That’s okay. I don’t even know if I’ll be here that long anyway. It was just a possibility.”

“Oh. Well, what do you want to do next.”

“Honestly, I think I want to go home.” And wasn’t that just a loaded statement? She’d relented though, since the boy wasn’t ready to leave yet. “Maybe get dinner first.”

“I know a place to eat close to here. It’s not like the one Mom recommended, but their food is good and people say nice things about their ale.”

“Ale. That’s a relative of beer. I could use one.”

The boy had grinned at her then and led her to the Red Talisman. Even if Kyle hadn’t recommended it, Cordelia might have tried it, simply because it seemed to be popular and well lit. She bought food for both of them, ale for her, something lighter for him. They ate in companionable silence and watched the other patrons, which were composed of all sorts. 

She supposed it was inevitable that some muscular, handsome type would decide she might be worth spending time with. The man swaggered toward her and she set what she was holding down and finished swallowing. She tried to gage whether this person was the type to take no for an answer, but it was hard to tell. The cocky walk to could indicate either. She noted he wore a jacket with patches on it, which spoke of organization, which might also mean this guy might be okay or this guy might be a gang member and they should run. 

She hadn’t arrived at a conclusion by the time he had made it to the table. He introduced himself, “I am Dyntor. My companions and I noticed that you and your young companion are here on your own ...”

“Greetings to you, Dyntor,” Kyle had said as if he’d known who this guy was all along. “This is Cordelia and she is a …”

That was as far as he got when a vision hit Cordelia so hard that it knocked her over and onto the ground like she’d been punched. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the vision overlayed what she was physically seeing. Her head felt a million miles wide and like it was splitting her down the middle, which is why she pressed against it with both hands for that first flash. The intensity was enough for her to know that the vision held something that was happening in the now and not a later thing. By the second flash, she had managed to grab her bag even though she hadn’t stopped screaming and continued to ignore the frantic worried cries and actions of the boy and the stranger. By the third flash she had the notepad out and was sobbingly managing to draw a major symbol which she had seen with a shaking hand. By the fourth, she was trying to write, but the pain was so fierce even letters she knew wouldn’t come.

She heard someone say, “Let me help you.” 

And, being in the state she was, she thrust the tablet to the person and she started saying what the vision delivered to her, while trying not to throw up from the pain or to crawl out of her own skin at what she was seeing. The words tumbled out as she attempted to describe, as clearly and quickly as possible what was seen, including the where and the what. She tried to observe as much as she could and follow the stream as far as it would take her and answer the questions that she normally tried to answer and some that were asked of her by the person writing the notes. As soon as the vision let go of her, despite the terrible agony she still felt, she struggled to stand and when hands would not let her, she batted them away, yelling that she had to be able to go help the mysterious,” them,” in her vision.

“My lady, we will see to it. You have my oath,” Dyntor said. Even as big as he was, he barely held his grip on her. Yet he tried to hold her still, because it was obvious that this great gift came at an awful price.

Then Kyle, his face streaked with tears, said, “Please, Cordelia. If Dyntor says it, they will. They will.” He too was holding to her, less trying to hold her down, so much as just to hold her

Cordelia glanced at the warrior who made the promise, then the boy who was crying and then at a woman in gold and white robes who held the notepad as if it were something very important and astonishing. “I can usually do this,” she complained. “I never let it keep me down. Well, almost never. I’ve got to save them. I need my sword, but it’s not here. It got left behind.” She was speaking of the one Angel gave her, which was in a whole other world. Then, whether she willed it or not, her eyes rolled back and she passed blessedly into the haven of unconsciousness.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The Gates of Miran were situated at four compass points and acted as a very subtle weeding of the masses tool. It did not let everyone in, though anyone could freely try. The gates were an extension of the Temple of Miran, which was in the Abbey of Dreams, which was a very popular visitation point for pretty much everyone who came to the city anyway. Cordelia might have discovered it eventually on her walkabouts with Kyle or even on her own. They simply hadn’t gotten that far. The city, after all spanned across a river, and was crossed by many bridges. The temple was on the other side from where Cordelia had arrived.

The brunette awakened in a room, with something cool lightly draped across her eyes. She felt slightly floaty and sick, like she usually did after an episode, but normally a vision did not incapacitate her. She hoped desperately this wouldn’t become a usual thing. Her hand felt like a stone, but she lifted it anyway, to remove the cloth and started to roll into a sitting position. 

Again she felt a stranger’s hand pushing her down, far too easily. 

“I have to...”

“It is done, Cordelia. Those that could be rescued, were.”

“But not all....”

“It was not possible.” The blow was delivered as gently as it could be, in soft tones and careful, neutral quiet.

It wasn’t until the visions that Cordelia began to understand Buffy’s horrendous bouts of depression and self-loathing. For every person saved, the one that was lost always hit her the hardest. “It hardly ever is,” Cordelia whispered the grief she always carried and in spite of herself, and probably because she had been overwhelmed for days, she wept from the terrible weight of it all and they were not at all unfamiliar tears.

A hand took hers then, and held it for the longest time.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The Abbey of Dreams was not a small place, but rather like a University with walls, or even a small town. Its grounds were extensive, including carefully maintained farmland and green spaces. Like the Vatican, it had its own policing force, its own governance. Cerundus, the city that surrounded it, was ruled with a fairly even hand by a democracy of aristocrats and the few champions who had made it to the ranks. The Abbey was ruled by the Abbess, who ordered a small council of priestesses and clerics, who then saw to the rest. 

After the experience in the tavern, where many people had witnessed the vision take place, including one of those priestesses, Cordelia was basically acknowledged and immediately claimed as one of Miran’s. She was folded into their care with gentle near-zen insistence and persistence. What belongings she had was brought to the Abbey and she was given a set of rooms as her own. She took no oath, was not indoctrinated, but once she recovered, she was trained; in many things and as much they saw it to be necessary. 

And, because she had nothing to prove to these people, she forwent her usual habits and threw herself into learning what they had to offer. It was like harnessing a bucking bronco, but Cordelia had always had a vast amount of willpower and a great sense of focus to go with her fashion. The training taught her more than mere meditation, though she meditated morning, noon and night. The priestesses helped her to expand her mystic and martial skills, honing what was already started in her previous life. 

It was not at all easy, but it did get better, and she gained real confidence in her ability to speak to what the visions contained, to seek the answers out. Her new mentors taught her to walk the possibles and pathways, not just a vision’s single point perspective. It wasn’t about controlling the visions, which came when they would and fairly often, regardless. It was about giving her the skills to discover what needed knowing and then tracing back when one could, or forth, when one needed, or even to the side, when it was possible. It was also about learning to do more than crawl through the torment, though the pain was a given.

It was during one of the martial practices, one involving kicks, punches and speed, that a different kind of vision took her. Explosive pain rocked through her, but she managed to stay standing, if distractedly so. She didn’t duck the punch, was already rolling her eyes back in agony’s paroxysm, but she delivered a good one of her own, before signaling a desire to bow out of the session. If the instructor demanded she continue, Cordelia was prepared to do so, while striving to hold onto what little sense of here and now she could. They’d pushed her on the skill before, and it was not unknown for her to shout out the vision as she tried to defend against an “attack,” which suddenly scaled up.

She was lucky. A halt was called.

The scribe of the hour, one of many assigned to follow her around for just this kind of moment, hustled to where Cordelia stood, forcing herself into a position of relaxation, pulse racing, and body sweating and panting as she rode the tidal pull of things that ought to have been.

In most ways it should have been her most private vision. It was a story of her life, one that had been more than potential, a truth and reality; but one that had been unspun on the web. Her inner eye followed a trail that showed her being with her bond-mates, explained the crazy feeling of her life having been meddled with; and it wasn’t just that her father hadn’t done his taxes. She called out names, and one that was sacred by every measure her friends held, as if it were torn out of her very heart. By the end of it, she still didn’t entirely understand what had happened, and had no idea what words had been spoken or how deeply they impacted those around her. She only knew that a hole in her life suddenly had an answer, though the vision was now in pieces before her, and that the consequences would continue to impact her and she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

It hurt more than any other previous vision in her life.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Cordelia lets the memories wash over her, indulges both the ones she has lived and the ones that she ought to have, then she lets out a breath and opens her palm as an act of letting go. She knows the power of the symbol now and uses it to ease those aches that otherwise won’t go. A knock at her door, timely, draws her attention. She considers ignoring it, but realizes that it would only delay the inevitable.

One thing about this last experience is that it has solidified a decision she was in the process of making. 

“Come in,” she calls and then she turns to look out the window at the blue sky with its cotton clouds. The door opens behind her, clicks closed. The sound of sandals crossing her floor add their tempo to the moment, then they stop. 

“Will you share it?”

“It was just them.” She doesn’t need to say more. Those who know, know. Those who don’t aren’t meant to. Cordelia exhales a great sigh, but her shoulders straighten immediately after and she is finally at center again. She turns to see her friend. “And it wasn’t a vision.” Her smile is a little compressed, but there. Again she doesn’t duck. “I’m going.”

The Abbess folds her hands together, pressing them flat against her belly. Wise green eyes close for a moment and then open. “Your home is here.”

Cordelia doesn’t argue, because she believes it now. “But you know I need to go. I can’t stay behind this time and a messenger wouldn’t be fast enough. We have to get there first and no one else has seen the way. If they get the Stone of Winds before us, people are in for a world of hurt.”

The Abbess nods, though her expression becomes more stern than Cordelia is used to seeing. “You will follow Dyntor’s orders.”

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“Only insofar as the vision is concerned, but …,” The Abbess paused and says, “Your well-being is important to many.” 

Cordelia considers and says, “I can’t make that promise. My friends back home would tell you I’m actually horrible at following orders. It’s why I know I was never meant for the army.”

Despite herself, the Abbess grins. “Then, please, just... come back.”

“If I can, I will,” that is as close to a promise that Cordelia feels she could make.


	12. Chapter 12

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 12

Miranda’s steps out of the aether into her home office. She takes in the familiar and comforting setting of wood, plush furniture and a wall of books. The space is designed to be soothing and homelike and is the opposite of her pristine glasswork office at Runway, which is designed to keep people on their toes. Her daughters, if they are not at their father’s, are almost always welcome in here; though she had some few occasions where the door had to be locked. 

Home is haven. It’s why she has such strict rules about how the Book may be delivered. As at the Summer’s, the space reserved for the attention of those few who are allowed the grace of visitation is a face and not the whole. Once even Stephen knew this, but his memory since the divorce has been adjusted and his invitation to any further depth of the abode has been rescinded. He will only ever see the face of the house if he visits; not that she expects him to. 

She settles into a favorite chair, tucking a leg under and leaning back. She glances at one of the decorative bottles on the desk. It holds myriad colored stones and she thinks it might be useful, though she often likes to use pearls too. She raises her hand and the item appears in it, solid and comforting. Her other hand dips into the bottle, grasping some of the stones. Then, in one swift motion, she lifts and releases, throwing those stones out.

In geomancy, they would have been tossed into a circle. In this exercise, they float and spin, spread out in the air from high point to low, strewn where thrown. Each stone represents a world or a “something,” within which she holds influence, and not even all of them. These are merely the one’s calling for her attention or part of an unfolding in which she plays a part. 

She huffs at the number, which is more than she expects. Then she waves the bottle back to its place upon her desk. As the stones take up their places, they begin to glow, each with different colors. The colors have a meaning for her, assist in helping her decide importance. She settles in the chair further, resting her chin upon her fist. Her bright eyes contemplate what she sees, because, of course, in any form of divination, even her kind, meaning comes from many points. Numbers, colors, rotations, placement, and other details add up and then need evaluation.

And, of course, there are other uses too.

One floating stone in particular catches her eye. 

She stands and paces toward it, recognizing it as representing this world, upon which she is residing. As she comes to a stop, peering closely at the stone which has now taken the shape of a very tiny globe, complete with clouds and the sun’s shade and light, she feels a rushing cascade of pleasure. It does not overtake her as magic would and she recognizes it for what it is. Despite herself, her lips curve into a smile, pleased that Andrea kept her promise.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Willow, not quite awake and planning on going back to bed, stands in the hallway of the doors. She is gazing at Andy’s door, but also Miranda’s. She considers, as part of the aftershock wears away, that she is very, very tempted to go snuggle up with Andy and Buffy, but that would mean leaving their Tara alone and she needs snuggles too. Next time, she plots, to have them all in the same bed, the same room. And, she’s not entirely happy, even if they are being accepting, that Miranda hasn’t let them in yet. Sure, they shouldn’t rush, but today... well.... right now... it would have been nice... 

She shakes her head and, still needing to get some water, she paces back through the hallway, past the other doors, which aside from the bathroom, and weirdly, they’ve never quite gotten around to properly investigating, without letting herself linger more on the topic. She reminds herself that there’s really no rush. 

On the other hand, a part of her thinks, maybe Miranda ought to go with her and Tara tonight. They can visit some of the local sites and get to know each other better.

Yes. That seems like a good idea. 

By the time she slides in with Tara, wrapping her arms around her with practiced ease, Willow is feeling content again. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

All the little worlds and problems put back in their jar, Miranda finally lets herself sleep. She wakes to the sound of a quiet house and the bright light of late morning sun filtered through shades and curtains. Despite the protestation of the night before, Andrea is not part of her dreams and she wonders if perhaps that time is over. However, the rest has given her some resolution and she has come to the conclusion that she might be “over-thinking.” 

After all, she is the trendsetter. 

She is careful as she readies herself. She looks at her closet, still full and remembers that her bags are packed and at the Summer’s residence. Her lips curl up. So many changes. 

She chooses casual again and takes a little breakfast, then when she feels ready to tackle whatever comes next, she closes up her home once more and returns to the grove. 

It has changed again, this time she identifies places to sit or recline around the perimeter. This time the change just makes her laugh. She realizes now that each thing will be a surprise and it has been awhile, since Andrea’s first arrival in her life, since she’s been surprised. She remembers she actually enjoys the feeling; at least when it comes to them.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andrea and Buffy are not at the writer’s abode, so Miranda enters the slayer’s home. No one is there either. Disappointment crosses her features, but she recognizes that she had not given them a time table, and they did have their own lives and schedules to attend. She wanders into the kitchen and notes that the biggest appliance, the refrigerator, has already been decorated, if one may call it that, with numerous items. She pauses to glance at it, thinking that she’ll retrieve some water at least.

Then she smiles as she reads the note left for her, one that promises both a return and offers directions should she choose to seek them out. She liberates the note from the magnet which holds it in place and tucks it away for the moment. Her perusal takes in the items that had been placed next to it. Elementary colorful block letters are scattered, except for one that spells pizza. She begins to think perhaps her … companions ... need a new food source to admire, but lets that thought slide. She notes a short card with a saying that even a broken clock is right twice a day. She spends more time with the images that have been haphazardly distributed. Some are from news clippings, from some time ago and some are actual photos, which are obviously from long ago. 

Two images truly capture her attention. Miranda sees a tall blonde woman, older and smiling warmly, holding Dawn under one arm and Buffy in the other. She understands that this must be the beloved, “Joyce-Mom.” The next image also has her in it, but there are more people in the image. Again Joyce is holding her two daughters. Beside and just a little behind her stands an unsmiling man who wears the equivalent of a professor’s uniform and glasses. She guesses this must be Mr. Giles. Willow stands close by Buffy, touching shoulders and one has the sense that something ridiculous has been said between them because their eyes are slid slightly to each other even as they grin. On the other side, near Dawn, stands Xander, who holds a medal in one hand and his expression is very proud. A young woman, tall, brunette and dark eyed, winds an arm around his side possessively. She is turned slightly, not in profile, but enough to know that she is looking at him with warm pride. She wears a varsity Jacket, swim team. 

Miranda spends more time than she expects contemplating the image and could not say why. Her fingers trace the outline of Buffy and Willow, then, as if under a compulsion, it slides to the striking brunette and pauses, then traces, her too; as if such a motion were a tender habit. Strange. Perhaps it is that she is a puzzle, unmentioned, but obviously someone they knew. She wonders if the young woman is even still alive. Certainly, the young man is with someone else, so perhaps it was only a high school romance. 

She is not unfamiliar with such things. 

She lets the moment go, perhaps uncharacteristically so, but she is more interested in seeing her bond-mates in person than in photo. She makes a mental note to inquire and then opens the door to get a bottle of water. 

She goes back to Andy’s house, finds the Lexus in the garage, tank full. She smiles, knowing that it is very likely that it was recently filled for her convenience. 

Not much later, she is on her way, following carefully drawn directions. The GPS system is, apparently, not that useful in Sunnydale. Interesting.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The Magic Box is located in an older part of the town, near other shopping establishments and a few eateries. Despite the hazards of the night, apparently daytime is brimming with possibilities and she notes very few stores that are actually bereft of goods or people. She parks the car in a close available space. It has one of those meters and she, without change, decides to simply wave it into activity. She’s sure the city won’t miss twenty-five cents.

Then again, as she approaches the shop, she has to wonder how many persons use that same thought process. It causes her to grin despite herself. 

The bell dings as she enters. She walks into a moderately lit shop. It smells of recent woodwork, cleanser, herbs, magic, old things, books and sundry things which actually mix to a pleasant sensation. She finds she immediately likes it. 

“Miranda!” 

Andy’s voice, sweetened by affection, captures her immediate attention and she turns just in time to see two women barrelling to her without inhibition. In New York no one would do what they do. She is caught up in an encompassing hug, reminiscent, but more solidly grounded in the type of embrace meant for family. She is released, but only enough that Buffy can bring her further into the shop.

A tall man is behind the counter, bent over several open books, flipping pages in some rapid search.

“Giles,” Buffy says, “Rupert Giles. He’s the guy we were telling you about. This is our... Miranda. She’s come to visit.”

He lifts his head, obviously plastering on a pleasant mask, before he does a double take. “You’re... You’re...”

She goes with the smirk, because for some reason, his absolute astonishment just brings it out. Maybe it’s the British accent behind the attempt to name what he is seeing.

Andy saves him, “Yep. The one and only Miranda Priestly. Here in Sunnydale.”

He blinks rapidly and suddenly his glasses are in his hand and he’s wiping them firmly with a cloth, “Well, I... What an unexpected...”

“I didn’t know you were into fashion, Giles,” Buffy says in surprise, because she sees that he obviously recognizes her bond-mate.

He blinks more rapidly. “Fashion? Oh. Right. Yes. Fashion.” He clears his throat and finally manages to come to grips. He puts his glasses back on and reaches out with a wide hand, “Welcome to Sunnydale Ms....”

“Miranda,” Andy interjects. “Just Miranda.”

“Giles,” Buffy says, “Miranda is very, very important to us.” She uses a finger to indicate Andy and herself. “To me.” She gazes firmly at her Watcher. “What you see here, stays with us.” This time the hand motion is encompassing. It’s a command that he understands. Secrets are something he keeps very well.

“Oh.” He shifts on his feet, then fixes his greeting, by nodding at the white haired woman. “Greetings, Miranda. Welcome to this humble shop.” He then smiles and surprisingly, the smile reaches his eyes. “I am very glad you are here.” She can see that he absolutely means it, in the way a relieved and frightened man might. She realizes then, he knows; perhaps not all of it, but enough to think of her as a power. How interesting. She wonders what he will do next, notices that her Andrea and Buffy are not at all perturbed by his evidencing a knowledge most do not have. She probably should have expected this, given some of their conversation. Giles is a man of knowledge. In another life, she might have found great appeal in him.

Giles shifts his gaze to the young women beside her and opts to take the chance. He says, “Miranda, you wouldn’t happen to be able to read ancient Sumerian, would you? I am having a devil of a time interpreting a few lines.” He lifts an ancient looking bit of papyrus. “You see, we have some friends who have recently returned from a journey, however, they’ve lost one of their companions. We would like to retrieve them.”

The editor’s gaze is definitely assessing and her posture regal. Then she imperiously extends her hand. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Willow and Tara enter the shop blithely, holding each other’s hands. The tests are over, and their relief is palpable. Like Miranda, they are met at the door, drawn into hugs by Buffy and Andy. 

The redhead spots Miranda at one of the tables, sitting casually, coffee by one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. She is wearing her editing glasses and for some reason, Willow finds that extraordinarily attractive; so much so that she practically glides to where the editor sits. 

Miranda has bare moments to look up before the redhead is pressing into her, laying her lips hungrily on hers. It takes a few seconds before she finally pulls back and her greeting is breathlessly enticing. “Hi.” 

Miranda sets the papers aside and tugs the young woman closer. A hello that delicious should be acknowledged. “Hello, yourself. I understand that you had exams today. Did they go well?”

Willow grins as she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck. “Yes. We kicked butt.” She glances back at Tara who strides toward them, with a smile. “Didn’t we?”

The blonde’s fingers thread through Willow’s hair and she nods at both of them. “I think we definitely passed.” She leans forward, pausing long enough to see whether the kiss might be unwelcome. Then, she presses her own lips to Miranda’s offering a kiss that is its own evocation of the divine. When she pulls back, she is not breathless, but her eyes are shining. 

Willow shifts and looks at the papers, and then glances back at the editor. “Why are you looking at Sumerian portal spells?”

Giles, who has been basically standing slackjawed and surprised, holding a heavy tome of Celtic portal spells, says, “Angel and the others have lost Cordelia. She left the Pylea dimension with them, but did not make it back here. Wesley called and asked that we look up some way to locate her and bring her home.” He lifts the book, “We’re just looking at possible options at the moment.”

“Wait. Cordelia is missing?” Willow’s expression lost it’s sensual edge and she pulls, somewhat reluctantly, away from Miranda. “For how long?”

“Wesley called about three hours ago, so according to his time frame, it has been almost a day now.”

“You should have called us.” Tara says, pulling a couple of chairs for Willow and herself to sit next to Miranda. “We would have had our exams rescheduled. This is more important.” 

Giles sighs, “We shall say they are equally important, but differently so. However, I felt I had the matter in hand and, of course, there are always challenges. The necessary conjuration tools for some of these spells alone will require some time for procurement.”

“And then there is translation,” Miranda states, “Of which there are a few possible choices. I will say, I don’t recommend the Cat’s Gate, Giles. Or rather, I strongly dis-commend it. The guardians are problematic and dangerous to those they consider strangers.”

“I will take it under advisement when I pass on our recommendations to Wesley.”

“Well, why not do it here?” Willow starts and then she feels a pressure on her thigh. Her eyes widen slightly. “Or not. I suppose we are talking big magic here. But we could do the locator spell here, because knowing the location would definitely help in the selection process of the right portal spell.” She casts a careful glance at Miranda and then looks at Giles.

Giles sets the book down and takes off his glasses. He looks at Willow then, “It is a good point.”

Andy finally pipes up, “I can help with that.” She points at her temple, “I have at least four or five different kinds up here, from all that reading you all made me do. Just tell me which one you want me to regurgitate and I’ll save you from having to dig through more books.”

“You have a photographic memory?” Miranda gazes at Andy in surprise.

“I thought you knew.” The brunette shrugs and then she sits down. “Oh, and you owe Buffy and I a kiss. I mean, if I’d known it was an option, I certainly wouldn’t have waited. Willow totally scooped us.”

Willow grins and drags a book toward her, “You snooze....” She doesn’t finish the statement, because with them, no one really loses, but it’s still a funny tease.

“So. Anyone for pizza?” Buffy says, feeling slightly useless in this hunt. 

Miranda says, “Honestly, something else for me please. I don’t know how you all live on that.”

“It’s the perfect food,” three young women quip. 

“Does no one cook steak here?”

The looks do not escape Miranda, then Tara leans and touches her arm, “There is a steak house, it’s just not wise to go there.”

“It’s not exactly steak that they cook,” Buffy nods.

“Or rather,” concludes Willow, “It’s too many kinds of steak. We barely keep them from...”

“Enough,” Miranda says, her expression gentle. “I understand.” She is once again reminded of where they are. For the first time, she seriously considers that those doors weren’t just for the convenience of the young women. Or rather, there were more uses than merely dropping in at her house. “Andrea, you know what I like as my alternatives. Find the closest relative to and then call someone you trust here to deliver it and something for the rest of you.”

The writer leans forward and grasps Miranda’s hand briefly, before standing and walking to where she won’t disturb anyone as they research and converse. The door rings as a customer walks in. They glance over, but then move on to searching for what they came for. People are used to seeing research at the store.

“Sorry we creeped you out,” Buffy offers apologetically.

Miranda regards the young woman evenly. “You did not.” Then, she extends her hand, palm out. 

Buffy takes it and is drawn close. She gazes down into blue eyes, her expression serious. Miranda cups her face softly, then draws her even closer, until their lips touch and warm to each other. The blonde growls very lightly into the kiss, or perhaps it is the start of a purr. When she pulls back, her hazel eyes are dark and hungry. “Who needs food?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

With so many of them researching, it doesn’t really take all that long to find some viable candidates. Though they do have time to finish lunch and were joined by Anya and Xander during. The empty cartons have long ago been trashed. Once again, Miranda realizes that Andrea is quite capable of follow-through. She considers that perhaps certain of her words to a certain editor might have been unfair, in retrospect. 

As promised, Andrea writes down several possible locator spells, two of which have inter-dimensional capability. Giles insists that rather than try it on their own, they forward the information to Wesley first. Then, if needed, they will assist. In practice, both teams try to handle their own issues.

Miranda is not unaware of Andy’s too casual glance over materials already researched. She finds the bump against assumed authority mildly entertaining and keeps the observation to herself. 

The chime rings and four heads swivel at once. It’s spooky enough that it reminds Miranda of her dream. Dawn steps through the door, looking school frazzled, but otherwise chipper. “Hi guys! What’s going on?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“We do have some sites to see, though they’re maybe not as impressive as what you might get in New York,” Willow began.

“We even have a winery, but the vampires got a hold of it a couple of years ago. The wine has kind of … well... been flavored differently since then.” Tara is surprised to see some astonished glances. She says, “What? First, I’m old enough and second, I haven’t had any personally.” Then she turns to Miranda and says, very seriously, “It’s safe to go to during the day and it’s very pretty there.”

Miranda has to glance down to hide her amusement and then she decides to not bother. She realizes her usual glamor of composure may be in serious jeopardy around these young women. She glances over at Andy, who is not among those who were surprised and the writer smiles at her, in shared amusement. “I am sure I would enjoy seeing it, but I do believe that dusk is coming soon.”

“What would you like to see, Miranda?” Andy asks. 

“Show me the Hellmouth.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	13. Chapter 13

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 13

In the end, Cordelia wonders seriously why she thought going with Dyntor and his team seemed like such a good idea. Then, as she watches him plow dangerously and efficiently, with sword and shield, through the host of creatures attacking, she remembers it has nothing to do with him, but rather with the artifact that they are trying to keep one mad mage from utilizing.

Of course, the mage isn’t making this easy at all, but then she’s yet to meet an oppositional force that does. 

Her hand flexes around the heavy mace in her hand as another burst of power shatters overhead. She is crouching behind a fallen stone table, waiting for a chance to bolt forward to the next protected space. It’s part of her agreement with Dyntor. She insisted on coming. He insisted that she had to practice strategic thinking and not just barrel through; not in so many words, but she understood what he meant. He and his team would distract, while she and her team, coming from two directions would flow around the main part of the battle. 

It’s a pretty good strategy in general and one they’ve used before. Dyntor prefers it, because he hates when she is out center with the rest of them. His protectiveness reminds her of Angel, Gunn and Wesley. It reminds her of Xander too. She does not fool herself into thinking it has nothing to do with her being a woman. She knows it does. Some things are just primal, even when everyone knows that nothing will come of it. 

The hard part for her is that it’s not just her own life she risks. The temple always sends a scribe and a cleric with her. If she goes, she goes with an entourage, since there’s no telling when a vision will strike, even when all she does is visit the local markets.

She’d say it reminds her of Pylea, but, honestly the protection offered to her here is so many levels of advanced in intention, that there’s just simply nothing to compare. The Pyleans guarded her as a lie. Here, the freedom is real, if with a few more people than she got used to in L.A. On the other hand, she has always known what it was like to have people with her wherever she went, ever since grade school. 

The difference is she doesn’t try to order anyone about. Normally. Okay, except like for now, in the heat of battle and with so many pressing things on the line. Rescue the sacrifices, grab the Tablets of Reas. Break them so they don’t get used again by nefarious scheming magic users to bring about a portal of doom.

Same old, same old.

Another magical blast and she sees the opening. She races toward a large black marble column and stands, pressed against it. The positioning splits her and her companions, and she can see the alarm in her friends’ eyes. But she gives them a firm headshake to keep them from trying to cross just yet. 

The ground rocks as the mage tries another tactic. She moves then, while he is occupied and the ground crumples dangerously. A few of Dyntor’s people break for those in chains, while he is tackling the mage. She rushes to grab the tablets. 

They’re only about seven inches tall, but surprisingly heavy. She lifts them from the stand with effort and they move in her hands, as if trying to escape from the intended fate. However, she manages to pull it up enough that the tug releases. She staggers back. 

The mage’s head is turned toward her and his eyes go wide with fear. She steps away from the podium. She just lets the tablets drop, opening her hands wide, even as he shouts. The shout turns to a gurgle as Dyntor finally manages a death wound. The tablets land and break, shattering to dust and stone and bright light at her feet. 

Cordelia feels herself flying for a moment, followed by that light and just long enough to think, “Why does this always happen to me?” Then she hits the wall behind her. The light, races around her, flowing through the wall and back out again, over and over like a bright tornado. Then, when it seems like it might never stop, it throws itself at her chest. She doesn’t see it. She has been knocked unconscious.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

From Cordelia’s perspective, it’s not the worst thing that’s happened in her life. She’s taken hits of many different kinds. She’s not used to it, since no one ever gets used to it. She simply accommodates. And, though she has been examined head to toe by cleric and mages summoned by the high priestess, there does not seem to be any lasting side effect. The light, according to the mage, was simply power and not at all sentient. Cordelia’s mind space is her own, unvisited and untainted, since their last exam. 

She is reminded of what the Abbess told her at the very beginning; that while she had been unconscious, they found a thing, an unknowable ancient thing, curled up within her and hiding. It was definitely a parting gift from Pylea. After all, their whole point was to take her over. The essence of whatever it was, was a like a snake, waiting for the right moment to slither out, yet caught in its own rest. The Abbess had a low tolerance for such events, and though it fought, it also lost. 

Cordelia’s mind, her soul, had been her own since that time and part of her training had been about keeping such things from happening again; in general principle. She was not a lax person, having taken the warnings of the Abbess very seriously. Thus, she had gone shielded into battle. It simply hadn’t stopped the consequences of breaking the tablet.

She looks at her friend. “I don’t feel any different,” she comments. “I’m even a little sleepy. So it can’t have been that much energy.” 

The Abbess cants a look at her that would quell an acolyte, but only causes Cordelia to smile. “Right. So I’ll report any strange happenings, any unusual dreams, any weird body modifications.”

“Thank. You,” the Abbess says firmly. Then she leans and pats Cordelia’s arm. “We like you the way you are.”

“Well,” the brunette drawls, “I like me too, but I could do with a few less headaches.”

They share a smile and later, Cordelia sleeps without worry.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The Tablets of Reas were old, as in ancient and from times unknowable old. They had always had an energy with them, a protective force, but that force had weakened over that vast amount of time until the tablets had finally been smashed. It was this force, what was left of it, that Cordelia encountered and absorbed. It is this force, which encounters the magic already activated within the seer, through the power of the bond, which was formed during her slide into Torisa, that changes and becomes.

As she sleeps, it winds slowly through her. At first it is just under her skin, which causes a glow to form, an inner light that, if Cordy had been awake might have reminded her of the trick that kids play with flashlights. Even with the glow, the scribe that is tonight discretely associated with her chamber does not see it, does not yet waken from their own slumber in the other room. 

The glow pulses, catching the heartbeat, the breath of Cordelia and brightening in short bursts as it skims and deepens; gains power. It sinks into the seer, is more fully absorbed as her natural defenses and her practiced defenses recognize its superiority, and somehow, its intent. It fills bone and sinew, strengthening. It slides into the softer organs, the things that keep a body in motion. It is so much different than stone, so much easier. 

It moves deeper than that and the glow finally expands. Cordelia’s sleeping eyes open, her mouth. Light pours from them. Her body rises from the bed. 

These are the physical signs. Inside a war is raging, not between Cordelia and the light, which was not seen as an intruder, but accepted; as if it were reinforcements. The war is between the light and that which had tied itself to Cordelia’s lifeline, her chord and string. 

While it had been changing Cordelia, the light had also been changing, gaining a form if not the essence of sentience. Perhaps it is Cordelia herself, which fights, has been fighting since the vision of her true mates had been revealed and the bond created. The bond is part of her and the light extends along it and where weakened, it suddenly strengthens it. 

Everything is subtle to this point, everything moves as if carefully choreographed. 

That changes. 

It starts with a dream, or rather it begins as Cordelia, who through out this whole time, has been sleeping, enters REM, enters the dream state. Enters the time of vision. 

Cordelia begins to speak, as the training she has received and her newly enhanced skills, demand. The scribe wakens with a start, finally alerted to something being different. She hears Cordelia’s voice and scrambles, rushing half asleep to gather materials and get into the room. She is in her sleeping shift, bare feet on cold floor. She skids to a stop and her eyes widen at the sight before her. 

Cordelia glows, and words and images, also glowing, are sliding all over her skin. 

“Oh sweet Miran!” It’s an exhale of prayer and it’s just enough.

A pulse of energy bursts from Cordelia’s frame, matching a heartbeat in rhythm. That energy pushes the scribe, popping them into the air. She falls and as she falls, Cordelia’s body moves from a reclining position to a vertical one. 

“I am the Miran’s Cordelia,” the brunette intones, eyes unseeing. “I am one of the Hand of Miran. I claim my rightful place!”

The scribe’s hair stands on end, every single strand, from leg to arm to head. Again, the scribe frantically moves, seeking the fallen stylus, while trying not to actually look for it. She is afraid to take her eyes off of the floating figure, afraid of what might happen next. 

She might as well look, because, after that Cordelia falls silent; lips compressed into a stern line and expression dangerous. The brunette’s long hair lifts and spreads and it seems like tiny lightening bolts are strewn among its threads. Both her hands lift, as if in surrender, but the scribe instinctively knows she had better move. She hastily thrusts herself forward, snatching the stylus on the way, and somehow ending just a little past and under Cordelia. 

It’s a good thing. The brunette points. “I see you, Nathan Reed! Hater of your Brother.” The words are spat out, cold. “You will no longer hold back what is true! Your time is done. I will cross the gates of worlds and Miran will know me. And you, Summoner of the God of Wrath, Seeker of the Twelfth Apocalypse, shall die the thousand deaths.”

The scribe gulps and writes and writes, because now she can definitely see the words under Cordelia’s skin and they are prophesy and not all of it is the type to make one happy and not all of it even applies to her world. And as she writes, all the scribe can think to say is, “Oh, Miran, Miran, Miran,” in an ever looping, frightened prayer.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It’s not even a matter of lockpicking. Buffy grasps the lock and, with the sound of metal rending, twists it off the heavy chain. The steel loops fall to the ground, now useless, and the fence opens.

They enter the broken grounds, one at a time, Buffy first, followed by Miranda, until everyone except Andy has crossed over. 

“Andrea, are you coming?” Miranda thinks, at first, the hesitation comes from lack of familiarity and the thought amuses her. She’s not the only one who hasn’t visited the site. 

It’s only as she realizes that she is hearing a hostile growl, that she realizes the brunette may have an issue. She watches as the young woman shifts on the balls of her feet, and her hands flex. She lifts her face up, as if catching the wind in her nostrils and her lips form a snarl. Her shoulders hunch and then flex back, as if she has wings that want to spread or as if she is wants to duck away. Miranda opens her mouth to say something perhaps a little sharp. 

“Oh,” Willow exhales. “I hadn’t thought of that.” 

Tara and Buffy share a glance with her, remembering in flashes only some of the things their bonding with Andy shared with them. But it’s enough for them to understand what is going on. Andy is reacting on a primal level to what she senses from the Hellmouth. It’s her nature, like it is Buffy’s nature to hunt. 

Buffy walks toward her bond-mate. She extends a hand. She says, “We need you.”

Andy tilts her head and then cracks her neck and she grabs Buffy’s hand as if it is a lifesaver and lets the smaller woman pull her past and through the opening. Willow quietly shuts it behind them, waving her hand in a small spell, so no others may pass.

Miranda wants to ask what just happened, but she keeps her peace. A part of her realizes it must have to do with some of those nightmares the girl has. She decides to compose her questions for Andrea and the others later, as there are more pressing things to investigate.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It used to be a handsome campus, well cared for, if dangerously situated. The trees are still very green and broad and some of the benches remained, slightly tilted or off center. The grass, however, had grown tall and the columns and masonry were deeply cracked and fallen. They entered through what used to be a double doorway. One door, portioned in half, hung off its hing forlornly. The other was set on the ground, by the wall, leaning as if it were a smoker in a previous life. 

The day was still bright enough outside to provide light to the entryway and the women walked into bent and broken hallway, Buffy at the front and Andy at the back. 

Willow began to chatter lightly, telling Miranda about the rooms they passed and who taught what class and sharing anecdotes. It was whistling in the dark, and they all knew it, but no one tried to silence her. As they moved into the deeper recesses of the shaken and torn school, Tara summoned a ball of light, which floated over them, providing illumination. 

“Someone’s been here,” Buffy commented and paused, which caused them all to stop. She crouches, in a mode familiar to anyone who has seen a hunter take a moment to examine what they see. The Slayer sniffs the air, but she doesn’t smell anything other than the usual stink of the hellmouth and the school in its decay. Whoever this was hasn’t been here in a while, but it wasn’t Glory. The shoe print is too large and too flat. Glory would wear heels. It’s not any person she knows, since Buffy has a mental catalog of familiar steps. Size eleven shoes, which means a big guy and the heel print seems to shift, which means they’ve worn those shoes a long time. They are moving toward the Hellmouth, but there are no prints away from it.

That doesn’t really mean anything, since there are other exits and entries to the school. A person could crawl through one of the broken windows, if they wanted. 

She unfurls and says, “Whoever it was has moved on. But, I don’t like it.”

“Maybe someone wanted to retrieve something from their locker.”

“Ever the hopeful one, Willow.” Buffy grins at her redhead and brushes her hands together. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

“I can hardly wait, but if it’s a transformed hell monster, you get to kick its butt.”

“Absolutely.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The Hellmouth is literally a hole in the ground, covered with a seal of ancient design, and even older writing. Even with the seal, even an insensitive can feel the pulse of power from it. While they all look, Andy grows watchful, pacing around them, as if impatient. 

Miranda is about to say something along the lines of ‘do be still’, but her arm is gently touched and her attention is brought back to the center, by Willow. So now it is she who walks, slowly, around the sealed space. “How many attempts have been made to open it?”

“More than I can count. Never by good men.”

“A given.”

“Yeah. Have you noticed that? It’s mostly the men. I don’t mean that badly,” Willow said. “There was the Sisterhood of the Jhe, but they were an aberration and not even you know who has tried.”

“Well, she wants a portal to her own dimension,” Tara said. “Not one that just goes generally … wherever this one does. If this one did....”

“We’d be seeing bloody ceremonies. Ancient rites,” contributes Buffy with a terrible cynicism. “You know, Willow, you do have a point though.”

This time it is Miranda who crouches down. She brushes her fingertips over some portion of it with a look of contemplation on her face. “It has been weakened. Recently.” She exhaled, “It leaks a darkness.”

“If you’re talking in the last hundred years? Yeah. Always has.” Buffy shrugs. “We deal with it. It’s the attractor, you know, like that plant in South America... the one that smells real good, but eats people.... I read it somewhere. Brings in the baddies like someone were offering candy to kids.”

“I know what you mean.” Miranda’s eyes lift. 

“It used to be covered with floorboards and stuff. You know, when the school wasn’t quite so... blown up,” Willow contributes. “That helped some.”

“Yeah. This was the library. We used to research a lot here.”

“It would be a good place to hide important books.” Miranda’s eyes hold a certain amusement, but her gaze is following the brunette. “Andrea?”

The writer’s attention snaps back to them, “Yeah. I’m here.” She paces closer to the center and looks down, arms folded. Her jaw clenches. And then she forces her shoulders to settle. She glances up contemplative. Then blinks. 

The ceiling above is literally black, as if soot and the grime of fire charred it. She exhales a noise, not necessarily one of surprise, but it’s enough to draw the other’s attention. “That’s just...”

“Worrisome,” Tara offers.

“That would be a good word for it.”

“I think someone has tried and failed,” Miranda states. “Whatever they seek did not come through here.”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, well, damn it,” Buffy curses.

Willow shrugs though. “Better to know than not. Good thing we stopped by.”

“Think anything actually got through?”

They all look at each other. No one really knows.

Andy says, “Well, I can tell you it wasn’t me. The portal that kicked me out was in Ohio.” She blinks, as if surprised by the revelation and then pales. “I … I... don’t know where that came from.” She stares at all of them as if she expects them to come at her or she at them. Then she starts to back away, “I... gotta go.”

“No. Wait. Andy.” Buffy might as well be talking to the wind.

“Shoot.” Willow says.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Though they hoped, Andy is not at the Lexis, nor can Buffy scent her nearby. 

“Do you think she went home?”

“I don’t know if home feels safe now,” Tara says mournfully. “We’re there. I mean, not there, there, but...”

“Calmly,” Miranda says. She dangles her sunglasses between her fingers and looks out. The sun is well on its way to set, with only a glow at the horizon. “Remember what you are.”

“And that would be?”

“Aside from mine?” Miranda’s smile is tight. “Bonded.”

“I’m having a Homer moment,” Willow presses her hand against her forehead. 

“It’s okay,” Buffy pats her shoulder. “We all were.” She skids a glance toward their elder mate. “Except for Miranda.”

“Mm.”

Willow drops her hands then. “We can probably sense her, and find her that way, but it might be easier to do a tiny spell of finding. Then … you know... go get her. I mean, if she’ll let us.”

“No. Don’t fuss.” Buffy says. “She just needs some time and knows where to find us if she needs us.” She stretches and says, “I think I’m going to go do some independent patrolling for a bit. Been awhile. You want to take Miranda on to see the Town Hall? Maybe Whaley Church. Cemetery is like a park. Very upper crust.”

“Someone get buried?”

Buffy just smiles. “In Sunnydale? Every night. Most days.” She then starts to walk, “But the real reason I’m pointing it out to you, is that there is there is a very fancy coffee shop nearby.”

“Say no more. Willow, Tara, I’m driving.”

“Just so you know, I heard a funny rumor about the management there. Something about, required learning. I think you’ll find it amusing, if nothing else.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy is not quite sure how she ended up in a tree. She hardly remembers getting there in the first place. Everything hurts; her head, her shoulders, her body. But weirdly, the tree feels safe and she’s as high as she can go, and still feel that way. 

She is no longer on the school grounds and she’s not at home. She’s not in a place of the dead either, nor at a church. She’s not quite sure where she is, except still, technically in Sunnydale, in the woodier part. She can see the town below as lights gradually come on. She is reminded how pretty the city is; one of the reasons she chose it.

Though she definitely claims the good, there is a part of her that acknowledges that even if she’d known about the bad, she might still have chosen the town. After all, at one time, it was as far as she could get from the things that hurt her. Or at least, that she thought hurt.

Now Miranda was technically in touching distance; one might even claim a right to touch, given what they were, but...

Yeah.

She was in a tree, hiding from nightmares that she realizes now were all too real. And the visions, they won’t stop. They don’t stop.

But she clings tightly to the strands, to the thing that is between herself and her others. Her hands wrap around the branches, holding tightly. 

What am I? What am I? What am I?

“You’re ours.” The voice is familiar and breaks through what threatens to be an endless loop. She gazes down and sees Buffy, who is climbing the tree.

“I...”

“We aren’t letting you go, you know.” The little blonde slides onto the thick limb, taking a seated position by the writer. She looks out at the town. “I told them I was going patrolling, which, I was, but then I caught your scent. You smell like cinnamon cookies, you know. It’s so good, I didn’t trust it at first. But it’s you. Whatever you are, whatever you were, wherever you are from, you belong with us and we’ll see you through the rest of this; whatever it is.”

Andy presses her head against the branch in front of her. “Where are...”

“I sent them to the ExpressoPump. It’s the closest we have to a Starbucks. Miranda looked like she could use some coffee.”

Andy’s belly starts shaking, then her shoulders and then the laugh starts and slides past her mouth despite herself. “Those poor innocent baristas.” She looks up and at Buffy, slightly teary. “I love you.”

Buffy leans over and touches her face. “I know.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	14. Chapter 14

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 14

 

The ExpressoPump, has been recently taken over by new management and is still quite full of patrons when they arrive, even after dark. It’s because the facility is a light in the darkness. It’s brightly lit, warmly inviting. The smell of coffee and fresh baked goods drifts in the air. People are chatting, waiting in line for their luxury coffee and any snacks they intend to get.

Willow intends to offer to stand in line for everyone, but Miranda slips into place as if she always has done such a thing. She folds her hands together, and stands, regal in posture. Willow and Tara hover around her, a little to the side, but obviously waiting too.

Tara gazes anxiously back at the door and the redhead takes her hand. They feel anxious about what has happened, but it’s an exercise in letting things be, which isn’t always a bad thing.

The line moves forward and they move with it.

The counter is a long wrap around space, with the register, the sample goods, the menu. Behind the counter, three people work. Two young people, with name tags that give their names and a brief description of their responsibility, which isn’t much. One older person, in their thirties, who took this job because it moved them into management.

That person is someone Andy might have recognized. They, like she, arrived at Sunnydale on a journey from New York and an overly close association with Elias-Clarke. That person has a small obsession, one that has carried them from position to position and, only here, aside from that fateful Starbucks, has it found a true home. Only here, where this new manager has been in charge and has full control as the owner of the establishment, has the coffee been made to perfection, fit to an exacting standard that is not her own and not merely a corporate standard, but to a one of a higher and more divine authority. 

The manager, Lena Douglas, has put her people through the wringer, demanding a perfection that at first seemed unattainable. Now, it is commonplace, for them. The Sunnydale people, those who have only gone to this one cafe, have no idea that they are perhaps a little spoiled, that they are used to a standard that is really found in one of two places. One place specifically, where the coffee is made for only one person’s taste, and the other place, generally, where it is made for them; to teach them this coffee gospel. 

The line moves forward more.

Absently, Tara and Willow note the speed, which is only held back by the available technology, not by any slow motion effort of the servers. They assume the quickness has to do with the new management, but they have no idea that these baristas have been through the equivalent of martial training. They have run gauntlets to get speed, taste, and temperature right. They can calculate in their sleep. They see a face behind their eyelids, as they pour themselves into this new process.

Who had said this job would be easy? Their parents? Hah. If they only knew. Lena demands the best, pushes it into them and then back out, with a singular name on her lips. 

The line moves forward. Willow and Tara are taller than their bond-mate. They are vigilant and she has been standing somewhat between them and it’s only taken their bondmate a short while to realize that these two are just as protective of her as the others, though they appear much more casual about it. They keep themselves between her and those in front and back, as the line has grown ever shorter for them and longer for the arrivals after. 

Finally it is their turn. The barista spins toward them expectantly, eyes and face open with professional friendliness. Willow brushes to the counter and then slides to the side, revealing and making way, while Tara takes up the other side. The red-head turns her attention slightly and says, as the regal woman beside her arrives, “Would you like me to order for us? I think I know what kind you like.” Because it was there, as part of Andy, when they learned of each other. She knows it by heart.

The white-haired woman takes off her sunglasses with practiced ease and glances at the chart, “Add a scone, if you would please. Something to take the edge off.”

Willow’s smile is bright, “Sure. Tara?”

The blonde nods quietly and tilts her head at the person behind the counter. Their eyes have gone wide and their expression is odd. 

Willow says, “Hi. We need three...”

Before she can really get started, though, the person behind the counter lifts their hands and then slaps one down against a bell that has been put in place for only one reason. They try to speak, but all that comes out of their mouth is what sounds like an attempt to hum. “Mm.. Mmm...”

“... coffees,” Willow slows her order and now she’s wondering what is going on, as she sees the older of the trio behind the counter whip around with a snarl on their face.

She hears, they all hear, a snarl of, “That better not have been a mistake Callie, because you know what wi...” The words slide to a stop and then change, as if evolved. “Oh. My. God!” Then they whisper, the words hardly there, as if in a dream, “Miranda. Priestly.”

The barista is shoved out of the way. “Welcome to the ExpressoPump, how may I help you?” The manager’s eyes are too wide, the smile too bright, to make either of the witches comfortable. But Miranda knows this expression. She knows it very well. 

She glances at her bond-mates, who, suspicious of this sudden turn around, have stepped protectively in front of her. “Perhaps,” she says, “You should let me order.” She puts her hands on their shoulders, gently parting them so she can stand in the middle again.

Tara glances back, while Willow stares at the manager with a hint of death if they do wrong in her eye. 

The manager is only slightly oblivious. Because this is the Miranda Priestly, she would only expect such protectiveness in her presence. “I know what you need.”

The words elicit a growl on Willow’s part. Miranda’s brows rise in amusement. “So you say.” Power is in her voice, expectation. Having already evaluated the menu, she has no need to look again. She says, without taking her eyes off of Lena’s, “Willow will have a number four. Tara a number six. I will have what I normally have.”

The manager’s breath is an answer of sorts. “Oh!” And then they shake themselves visibly. “Coming right up.” She turns to the preternaturally still barista on her left, the one she shoved from the register. “Well!” she practically shouts. “Go!! Go.Go.Go! You know the drill! Operation Miranda Priestly! Go!”

The barista finally manages to breathe and it’s a squeal of a noise, and then she turns, practically running into the other young server. They bounce off of each other, their efficiency slightly blown by the edges of panic. 

Miranda waits, letting her expression become bored and restless. If the manager thought they were going to chitchat, that notion flies away. Yet they can’t help articulate, can’t help say, “I have waited... for years. You have no idea. It’s always been someone else, coming for your coffee. And then Andy...”

Oh, and that eagle glare turns, “And what do you know of my Andrea.”

The tone is so cold that one might think ice has formed. The manager gulps and tries, “She’s the best. The best one of your... of she...” It’s as if Lena has forgotten all the things she wanted to say. 

Willow and Tara watch the exchange with a growing awareness. “Has Andy been in here?”

“What?” The manager blinks. “No. I would have known. Wait. Are you looking for her. Rumor is.... wait... Is she all right?” Miranda’s eyes widen infinitesimally as she ‘hears’ a whisper of a prayer. ‘Oh Miran, no, please no’. 

Is it possible? Is this person an accidental disciple, perhaps a priestess of a sort. With Miranda’s constant presence on this plane, it had been known to happen from time to time. Miranda lets her senses play around the edges and she feels the energy then. Knows. The ExpressoPump, has become her shrine. This one is more than just a manager. She realizes this in just a matter of a heartbeat or two. She starts to act, but her bond-mate has already done what is necessary.

One can hear the breakdown fast approaching and Willow snaps her hand out. She lays it on the hand of manager. She makes a very soft invocation, a whisper of stability. The manager’s panic stills. “Miranda is fine with our Andy. And vice versa. All is well. If she hasn’t been here, she will be. You know her flavor too, don’t you?”

“Yes. I... Yes. I haven’t seen her in so long. I thought...”

“A little crush, on our Andy,” whispers Willow. “Just remember, she’s ours.”

“I would never... She’s... what?”

“I think you know,” Willow says. “But don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you. Where’s the coffee?”

Of course, it takes some time. It always does, which is why Miranda sends people out for it. But somehow, as if by merely saying it, the coffee is placed on the counter; three versions and ready. 

Miranda glances down at the steaming cups. Her nostrils flare lightly at the scent. She takes one, without having to guess. Lifts it to her mouth and sips. Then she nods. “Acceptable.” Miranda glances about, “So long as you make my coffee like this, your establishment shall do well.”

The manager’s eyes widen at the words of promise. Lena’s hand covers her mouth as a peep of a noise of happiness squeaks out. She can’t help bowing, just a little. “Oh. Thank you. Thank you.” The relief is palpable, the wonder is too. As if she is aware that she is in the presence of divinity. Then the other shoe hits, a realization that the implication is that Miranda will be back. Or someone will, for her coffee.

“You always knew she could be in many places at once,” Tara said, softly. “You always knew that you were seeing more. Is it really all that unexpected?” 

Lena’s eyes widen, and her fate is in some ways sealed. 

“Be careful of invoking her name with false purpose,” Tara intones. “She won’t like it.”

“I...I... Understand.”

“Good,” Willow says. She lifts her cup, places money on the counter where it had been, then takes the bag of scones, while Tara takes her own cup of coffee. “Miranda likes her coffee shops. It’s a perfect place for such things as she might need. Andy and Buffy will be here in a half an hour. Buffy likes chocolate in her coffee; a number three for her.”

“Right. I will see to it.”

Miranda is trying not to feel slightly dazed at how quickly she has gained a shrine in this town. She feels though, a need to do something. “I invoke Sanctuary, upon this place. Only those without the intent to harm shall gain entrance here. Those that seek the portal key for reasons other than protection, are barred for all time.” 

Her words make it so. A light, nearly unseen, but definitely felt, whips through the coffee shop and grounds it. It forms the perfect triangle with the residences already under Miranda’s protection. 

Then Miranda puts her glasses back on and walks out, two women in tow. The baristas exhale, but the manager, Lena says, “Oh my goddess.” Her whole world has changed.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Lena is unconsciously counting. Her eyes drift to the clock at the register and the big round analog one on the wall, as they continue to serve. Closing time is not far off and neither is the half-hour mark. The human part of her, the one that is used to reality being one particular way, is almost hoping that nothing happens; that it’s just another day. That she imagined what they saw and experienced. 

But it is shockingly hard to deny that one has seen Miranda Priestly, when one has longed for so long. Even casual, she was power personified. From the first time she saw the editor’s photo in the back of her best friend’s Runway magazine when she was just eleven years old, she felt connected, in some indescribable way, to those striking ice-blue eyes. She’d never been able to explain it, or even understand it herself. Despite her father’s hatred of ‘high fashion’, she devoured the magazine month after month, even went to the library for archived copies. Anything and everything she could get her hands on, she soaked up like a sponge dropped in the ocean. When she couldn’t get a job, any job, at Runway, she did the next best thing, and applied at the Starbucks across the street where it was said that Miranda always got her coffee from. She’d just wanted to be in the woman’s presence once, just one time, but it had never happened, not in all the years she had worked there. Not until now.

The line shortens and shortens again as the last few who dare drink a coffee this late, make their way through. Lena is about to give the order to start cleaning up, when the door jingles a customer in. 

She hears, “Hey Buff!”

The tiny blonde woman waves her hand and smiles at the random greeter. Lena feels a chill run up her spine as she realizes that she’s heard this name in the whispers, in the talk that one catches on the side. She realizes she has heard of Buffy Summers, the one who saves. The Slayer.

Before Lena could get wound up in the thought, she spots a taller form behind the woman. The brunette’s silhouette is so familiar it causes an ache to form in her chest. Andy. The best one.

Buffy and Andy... Buffy. Andy.

OH! 

Lena leaps into action, waving at her two assistants. She grabs one and says, “You take care of these people,” she points to the hapless patrons of her establishment who had the audacity to show up before the other two. She then points to Callie and then at two women approaching. She whispers, “I’ll fix Andy’s. You fix Buffy’s.”

They split off then, everything set into motion. This time it goes like clockwork, perfection gained. By the time Buffy and Andy are at the register, and before they can even make their order, the drinks have been slid onto the counter. 

“Lena?” Andy says. 

“Hi Andy,” The words are breathless, formed on a smile. “They said you’d come. Your.... they didn’t give me their names. But...” Her eyes widen. “Goddess. Miranda.”

“Ah. I see,” Andy says gently. “Willow is the redhead. Tara is the blonde. They’re ours.”

“She said. Yeah. Willow.” Lena feels shivers running along her skin. 

“It’s good to see you Lena.”

The manager comes back then, drawn by the gentle words. “I. Wow. Thanks. Good to see you too. I’m surprised you remember.”

“You are? We saw each other several times a day for nearly a year. Commiserated on the demands made by our bosses of the time.”

“Is she...”

“More than that, now. Much has changed. You?”

“I own...” Lena waves at the shop. “I own this place.”

“Wow. That’s fantastic! Congratulations. I know you wanted to be your own boss. Well done.”

Lena suddenly beams, feeling warm all over; happy. “Thanks.”

“Oh. I’m failing my intro. This is Buffy.”

“Hi. Welcome to the ExpressoPump. Welcome to...” Well it’s more now, but how do you say that? When your not sure what you’re introducing? How do you say you just got a calling?

“Nice to meet you, Lena. Do I smell chocolate in that coffee?”

“Yeah. That one is yours. Willow said to make it.”

“And that is why I love her. Brilliant.” Buffy fishes in her pocket and puts money down on the counter, enough to pay for both drinks and taxes.

“You don’t have to...”

Andy grins, “But we’re going to. This way, you never have to explain to the manager how you got stiffed.” 

They share a smile, and a memory then. Andy listening to a crying Lena, whose register had come up short. The panic of the moment, and the grace, as Andy pulls out a twenty and seals her fate as “the best,” to the young woman. 

“Okay,” Lena whispers, “But I still owe you one.”

Andy shakes her head and lays a hand on Lena’s. “You paid it back a long time ago. Every time you made Miranda’s coffee at the mere sight of me, and always perfect. You saved my bacon millions of times.”

“Center of the sun hot....”

“Yeah.”

“Was that. Was that really her?”

“Yeah, Lena. It was. But. You know, don’t go blabbing it to people who don’t need to know. Sunnydale is a good place to hide, you know. And sometimes even she needs to get away without worry.”

“Right. I can see that. I can.”

“Cool. At least we'll know she'll always have her coffee right with you here.” Andy picks up her cup and salutes the other woman. "I’ll see you around Lena"

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They sit on a very fancy picnic table at a park just on the side of the very swank cemetery. Buffy was not kidding about its beauty. Willow sits on the table, feet on the seat. Tara is between her feet, while Miranda is sitting beside them, on the seat, leaning slightly against the table. The scones are gone, but they’re still drinking their coffee and watching, waiting, because someone is going to rise tonight.

“You know it’s not like clockwork and you would think, given the the stuff they do to a corpse, that the process would get halted along the way. I mean things get positively cleared out of a body and then replaced with chemicals and it’s just weird, how, instead of smelling like formaldehyde, they come out smelling, well, like themselves, just a little colder. Sometimes kind of sweet, but not too icky, more like temptation sweet. So, somewhere, between the point of “you’re dead,” and “you’re buried,” a transformation is taking place. Magical, a given, but biological too. Very strange.

“And then, you know, there’s the intelligence. They say the soul goes on and I kind of believe maybe a part of it does, but not the whole thing.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda asks.

“Well, a few years ago, when the Vamp me...”

“Wait. Vamp you?”

“Other dimensional me. She was accidentally dropped in our reality, made a little trouble and well, that’s when I realized that maybe there was more than what was in the books. The books will tell you that a person is gone, but I know. I know, that the me that was from that reality, was still there. Intelligent and yeah, wicked, but not so gone as the books said. And she knew she was kind of gay before I did. I mean...” Willow is amused at herself, because even thinking about Ms. Grabby Hands Vamp Willow still causes her to blush. “Well, she wasn’t shy. So, then I had to wonder if maybe you know, that wickedness isn’t entirely about wickedness, so much as lack of inhibition.”

“Some of it is wicked,” Tara said. “Well, a good portion.”

“Yeah. But some of it... You know, the brain is a funny thing. It’s portioned off into these parts that help us to control our behaviors and such. Look at how they’re controlling Spike. Now I won’t claim he’s good, but that part of his brain, the part that exerts social control, is being retrained.”

“Don’t you mean the chip is controlling it.”

“No. I don’t think so. He’s done too many things that a chip doesn’t control. The only thing the chip does is keep him from biting and attacking humans. And, being bad isn’t just about attacking and feeding off humans. It’s actually much more complicated than that. There’s a lot of stuff he’s not doing...”

There was a flash of light in the distance. “Oh. There’s the signal. Shall we go take care of it?”

Tara glances at her nearly empty cup. Then she floats it to the garbage can and lets it drop. “Yes.”

“They made me stay on the path.” It’s not a complaint, just a comment as Miranda tosses the cup and it miraculously flies all the way to the trash to land in basket.

“Well, you can do that if you want, but I think I want to hold your hand while we walk. What do you want to do?” Willow extends her hand, palm out and Miranda takes it. 

They stand together. Tara moves a little and Willow bounces off the table to the ground, landing with grace on her feet. They walk toward the trash can and Willow drops her cup into the can. They move a little further and Tara wraps her arm around Willow’s waist. The redhead smiles at them both and they walk towards what looks like a dimming flashlight signalling. “I love simple warning spells. So handy.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

In some ways, Willow and Tara really surprise Miranda. One would think, given Willow’s chatty nature, which despite how the editor slash Goddess hates it in others, she loves in Willow, that she would continue the trait when accosting a ‘bad guy.’ However, she goes quiet, while Tara motions the signal closed, until they are standing quietly in the dark.

Their eyes adjust, as they listen to the sound of the ground moving and the groan of a body shoving itself up through the earth. This one literally claws its way out. A hand thrusts up, and dirt that was only recently packed flies up and out. 

None of the women felt obliged to stand close during all of this, so no one is assaulted by clods of dirt. The creature of the night, the newborn vampire, groans up and out in slow motion. They wait in silence. Then, it’s effort finished, it stands on wobbly feet and shakes itself. Breathes in and cocks its head, hearing the sound of three heartbeats. It turns and leaps.

And bursts into light at a word. The illumination fills the whole of the cemetery and all is seen clearly and cleanly for bright, bright seconds, as if they are under a second sun. Then the light disappears and ashes fall back onto the opened grave. 

Willow takes Miranda’s hand again and Tara wraps her arm around the older woman, like she had the red-head earlier. They leave somberly, respectful of the life extinguished; even if it was bad from the start.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

A phone call to check up on Dawn, who is ensconced at Andy’s, ripping through a game, and not going anywhere soon, leaves them free to visit another place, another club. This one doesn’t have dancing, but it does have live music. Sunnydale is actually replete with culture. It’s as if fighting off death as a constant state forces their creative people to shine while they may. 

Tara finds the table, while Willow casts another spell, one that gives an unfair advantage. The vampires in the room, two who are in the back, watching the world with hungry interest, are marked. They don’t know it, don’t feel it, but Tara, Willow and Miranda know.

For awhile, they sit comfortably, listening. Miranda feels a hand rest on her thigh. Willow leans over and whispers in her ear, “Everyone thinks Tara is the shy one, but she’s the one who taught me to be bold.”

Miranda feels a warmth form in her belly, and a smile curves her lips. “Are you sure? I think that may be all you.”

“Well,” Willow grins at her blonde and then lays her lips against Miranda’s cheek. “Maybe a little.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

It’s a pleasant, languorous tease between them all, but then the vampires decide to leave; after another couple has.

“Oh well, duty calls.” 

“This is why I like our stay at home nights. This kind of interruption rarely happens.”

Miranda can’t help the chuckle. Money is laid on the table and they leave the establishment, following the signal in a quiet haste. 

The cry for help speeds them. 

Willow says, “Hey, you. Those people aren’t happy meals!”

The vampires growl and turn, teeth bared, but not yet bloody. One holds the victims down, while the other launches themselves at the intruders. Then it bursts into flame. 

“I should mention, I’m not a very happy meal either. In fact, one might say I’m positively cranky. I was having a very good time with my Miranda and you had to leave right then. Couldn’t wait even five minutes.”

Ah. There was the talkative Willow. 

“You should let them go,” Tara says. “Here. I’ll help you.”

Her hand extends, palm thrown out, then she makes a grasping motion. The vampire is ripped away from their prisoners, moving inelegantly backwards and arms tilt-a-whirling. 

“That’s your signal to run, friends.”

The two screamers get the point and break away, not sure what to be more scared of; the teeth or the power.

“Time for you to go too.” Another creature bursts into flame and then turns to ashes.

“You know, I think I’m done with outings for tonight. Want to go home?”

Miranda, feeling much more respectful of these young women, says, “Yes.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	15. Chapter 15

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 15

They make their way to the car. 

A squeal from the dark reaches their ears. “Oh. My. God! It’s... It’s...” 

A blonde woman bounds out of the shadows, preternaturally quick. She stops, but only just. Even with her face twisted into a vampire’s mask, the ecstasy is apparent. “Oh my god. I love you. I … You’re... Oh...” 

“Breathe.” Willow says, even though vampires don’t need to breathe. Her voice holds an amused resignation. “She’s not going away.”

“Who is this?” Miranda blinks, wondering why this vampire among many has not been incinerated. 

“Miranda, may I present our... friend, but vampire who is still somewhat bad, Harmony Kendall.”

“Hey. I’m only eating bad people these days. Cut me a break. You have no idea how hard... Wait... wait... Miranda Priestly! In Sunnydale! I am your biggest fan.” She pauses and then says, “Well, actually, Queen C is, but she’s not here, so I am right now.” She grins, exposing sharp teeth, but somehow the smile, which ordinarily would be terrifying is weirdly cute. “Hi!” she says breathlessly. “Do you need a vampire minion?”

“Childe, who is your sire?”

“Oh. He’s dead.” Harmony waves her hand carelessly. “It’s just me and a few boys I made. But they never last.” She props her hands on her hips and turns to Willow. “Buffy is just harsh.”

“Doing her job. Besides, you know you’re limited to two. Better not let her find out you have more. It’ll only get harsher,” Willow comments.

“But...” Harmony’s shoulders drop. “You know it hurts every time she kills one, right? I feel them.” She presses her hand to her chest. 

“Then don’t make more.” Tara says, far more gently than Willow would have. “And the ones that you do make, tell them to stop feeding on people. Animals from the forest, or blood from the butcher, but no people.”

“I know. But, sometimes they’re just so pretty. Even if they are naughty.” Harmony shrugs and then smiles again, “Then again, that may be why I like them.” 

Meanwhile, Miranda has been writing a number on a card. “As you are a friend to my companions, I offer you this. My friend in New York is a Master Vampire and ethical. You will find a strong tutor, who will instruct you in higher ways beneficial to your kind. I give you this so, if you are true to your mission of being my minion, as you claim, you may be strong. I will contact them in two days. If you have called, arrangements will be made and you and your Childer, shall have a place, to serve me.”

“Oh my god.”

“No,” Willow corrects. “Goddess.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They head back to the Summer’s residence. Andy and Buffy are still out, but the slayer has made a phone call to let them know that things are alright and the coffee was good. The quiet of the house embraces them as they settle into the front room, not quite ready to take up where they left off in the club. 

Miranda feels slightly at a loss for two reasons. Normally around this time she’d be working on the book and, though the time with her bond-mates has been pleasant, she misses the familiarity of the task. And then, she is aware that she has been the one who has held off, despite her inner self-warnings that the bond will become demanding should she go much longer without affirming it. However, she has wanted to get a feel for these individuals who do not hesitate to embrace her; though she understands now, in a fundamental way, why they don’t. For them, they see life’s end so very often and in such short expanses of time. They don’t have the time to waste. 

Yet, they wait for her. They wait for her to find out and discover what it is she needs, so she may be more fully with them. They wait for her trust, and trust that their waiting will not be in vain.

She honestly has no idea why she is stalling. It’s as if it’s something on the edge of her peripheral vision or like desert shimmer. And the truth is, she knows enough now, to make a de... to arrive at her conclusions. 

“Willow, Tara, I think I would like to see your bedroom again. Can that be arranged?”

She bites down on the threatening snort of amusement as the two women’s body language shifts from casual comfort to alert awareness and a near instant standing again.

“Are you sure?” It is Tara who asks, though they’ve both picked up on the intent. 

Miranda’s smile is slow and sultry as she gazes at her soon to be lovers through eyelids gone heavy. “Oh yes.”

She uncurls from her chosen seat and extends a hand. It is taken and she is led up the stairs, not too fast or slow, but with great deliberation. They stop at the door, which is opened and it is Tara who is bold this time, clasping Miranda’s face between warm hands, she lays in a sparking kiss that rounds into a ball of inner flame. She pulls back, letting go to step backward into the room, while Willow takes her place with that wide slow smile of hers. “The things we are going to do to you,” the red-head whispers and leaves it unfinished as a promise. Then she tugs Miranda into a second steaming kiss that spirals the desire through Miranda’s blood and while they kiss, she draws them into the room. 

The door closes behind them and Miranda is tired of playing observer. She smiles with feral intensity into the kiss and then wraps her arm around Willow, tugging her fiercely close. “And what makes you think you’re the ones who will be doing...”

The motion and words elicit short giggles of delight and Miranda prepares to show these lovely ones what a Goddess can do.

And, then, she hears a desperate cry, a shout of fear and awe and terror, a call, and it strikes her hard, because the cry is too potent, too urgent; breaking through walls of time and space that should keep it in a separate pool of reality for investigation later. 

“The shrine!” she articulates, realizing what has happened. She hears, because she can hear, can always hear, but... there is power now, which amplifies the effect of the call. 

Blue eyes go white and she arcs away as power is connected through her frame. But their hands are, were, on her at the time. They see and hear what she sees and hears. 

“Oh Miran! Miran! Miran!” 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Since the bonding, which has only been in effect a very few days, the four women have been very closely tied. They are not psychic with each other, in the sense that the feel every impulse, think every thought. However, when something is “loud” enough to get all of their attention, it does.

Andy and Buffy have just finished another walk through one of the homes of the dead. They’ve peered in marble edifices and have scoured a nest from the face of the world. It’s been a job well done, tiring in its own way, but both feel good about what has been accomplished.

They feel the bondmate’s exultation. Andy blinks back tears, “Oh, she’s finally...”

“Yeah,” Buffy smiles. “You know, I think patrol is done for tonight. Time to head home.”

Flight of foot, they run, heading towards Andy’s house, which is closer; tilting down pathways at a speed that would impress any there to observe. They do not necessarily run tandem, keeping side by side, but they run around obstacles, choose different paths as necessary to avoid slamming into people who are out that night. They pull back together when they can, running apace with a grin. They scramble into the yard, and nearly make it to the door.

Then, as one, they crumple to the ground, as if they are puppets and their strings have been cut.

They are not on the ground long. Brilliance outlines their still forms, like a marker of light, before expanding and brightening around them. Lifting. They float two inches above the ground and their eyes open, hands dropped to their sides. Magic threads through them, rising. 

They do not see where they are. They see where Miranda is.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Time is not always what it seems in transition, for Divinity especially. Goddesses arrives always where and when they need to arrive. The Grove of the Abbey of Dreams brightens to a near sun-like shine and three women appear.

Time rewound some, while in transition, and the sound of prayers, a vast number and not just the one that tugged, echo and demand attention. It is overwhelming to those who are not used to it. Willow and Tara are bent by the experience, but their bond makes them flexible. Where others might have let go, they grab tighter; clasping Miranda and each other.

The Goddess utters commands, setting things into motion and silencing the cries. Not everything needs to be answered at once or rather, Miranda has never felt obligated to just jump to demands. On a level so arcane that even Willow and Tara can not yet follow, she examines, replies to what she wants, automates responses to the simple things, taps into the all for the greater things, but for now... she has one great thing that needs attending.

Three women appear in light, their clothing stripped and remodeled. They wear just above the knee-length coverings that are reminiscent of Grecian wear, simple and modest, but not mere shifts. 

The light fades around them, revealing them to the eyes several astonished people. 

Miranda does not bother with pleasantries. She steps off a platform and strides towards her goal with single minded purpose. She is followed by her Willow and Tara without hesitation, their expressions grim. Anyone foolish enough to be in their way scatters. 

It only appears to be a walk, but each step is a great stride, they are at the room of origination in moments. A guard’s eyes widen as the Goddess arrives. She utters, “Door.”

They move with alacrity, opening the entryway with haste. 

The trio move into the suite, which is, unsurprisingly filled with a number of people. Even with that overwhelming pulse of presence, a priestess turns, saying, “I thought I told you we were to be undisturbed.” Her voice falters as she recognizes at least one person, but only from the images she’s seen. 

Miranda does not ignore her per se, but they do not let the presence of others deter them. They enter the room that is filled with power. 

A woman trembles and writes, trembles and writes. Her hands move as fast as she can, to finish what was started. She feels, suddenly as if hands have been placed on her shoulders and the trembling stops. She hears a whisper, a response of, “You called. I am here.”

Tears of relief fall. The scribe calms and the writing continues, but now peacefully and without fear.

It is understood that Miranda had to respond to the prayer’s specific summons, but her companions, on the other hand, look around with interest and curiosity, until a pair of bright green eyes land on the figure on the bed. “Cordy?”

The scribe’s attention snaps up and for the first time she notices that she is not alone in the room. “Wait, you shouldn’t....”

“They are with me.”

Again the words come from behind and the scribe slowly tilts her head down and sees fingertips from the corner of her eyes. Her eyelids flutter before the eyes roll back. Miranda catches the scribe before she falls entirely, lifts her as easily as a child. “I will take care of this one.”

Willow meanwhile has made strides toward the bed, where Cordelia now rests with her eyes closed. “Oh my gosh it is.” She looks at Tara, “We found her.”

Tara takes a position on the other side of the bed, looking with curiosity at the prone, unconscious figure. “I don’t know that we found her, so much as we were summoned.” She lifts her hand and lays it not on, but over the woman. “Do you feel it?”

Willow’s motion on the other side, reflects Tara’s. “Power. Lots of it.”

Miranda returns, followed in haste by one of the priestesses. “We have sent for the Abbess,” she is saying. Miranda does not answer, but heads to sheaves of paper the scribe was writing oh so quickly and carefully. Holding her hand palm up, she collects them, those in the stack and the fallen page and stylus. 

The stylus refills of its own. The pages shuffle into sudden order and a cover forms and wraps around and binds it all, until a book exists in her palm. It is as automatic as breathing. 

Miranda keeps the book, but hands the stylus to the priestess, whose eyes go very wide. She takes it as if it is a gift from the Goddess; which it is. 

“What is this?” Miranda finally says, lifting the book. 

“Cordelia’s Prophesies,” the Abbess says, huffing between words. She leans against the door frame, out of breath. “Some of them.”

“Abbess, we did send for help and ...” A guard runs into the room and skids to a stop, body slumping and mouth gaping in shock. At least the weapon does not clatter to the floor, bespeaking the power of the Abbey’s martial training.

“I know. I know.” The Abbess places her hand against her heart. Her face is grey. She really shouldn’t have run, but...

Miranda strides forth and places her hand over the Abbess’ and light passes from her hand and through. The Abbess straightens, breathing easier, weight lifted. Miranda doesn’t quite smile, but her voice is tender, “Shivon.”

“Goddess Miran,” she says quietly, respectfully. It’s been so long since anyone has called her by her first name. That the Goddess knows her by name strikes something warm within her, even though she is terrified by what might come.

“Tell me,” Miranda says firmly. “Everything.”

The Abbess realizes it is not about what the Goddess knows or does not know. She wants to hear from her. She starts with the important part. “Cordelia, the Seer, is yours and she is my friend.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“I don’t know what is in those pages,” the Abbess concludes. She does not trust the glacial expression of not quite calm in the Goddess eyes, but she knows it is not directed at herself. “I haven’t seen them yet. I only know what we’ve heard so far....”

“I see,” Miranda says. Outside, lightening shatters a darkened sky and thunder rumbles dangerously loud and close. “Then let us find out, shall we?” 

She takes the hand of the Abbess and lays it on the newly made tome, and places her hand over the Abbess’ again. She utters one word. “Reveal!”

Again, the Goddess’ eyes go white with power. Tara and Willow, at first are rooted to the spot and then lifted in the air as magic threads from them, to Cordelia, to Miranda in arcs of tiny lightening. The words course from book to persons in the space of seconds.

If she was upset before, now Miranda is seething with understanding. The picture forms in full, with the depth of treachery revealed. The ground shakes under the Abbey, the world trembles with her rage. A volcano bursts into being deep in one of the world’s oceans, creating high tidal waves and a front that spirals two hurricanes. The air grows even more frigid at the poles, and out of season blizzards hit those towns and villages and feudal castles closest. The local storm shatters around the city and the Abbey, and rain pours in outraged torrents.

She lifts the Abbess hands and utters, “The clock winds back, thou wilt serve a little longer, Shivon. My people will need you.” 

Well worn lines on the face of the Abbess recede, her hair changes back to gold. “Goddess...” It’s not quite a plea. She had lived a full life, had come to anticipate what was to come. Now, again, it is put off. 

Miranda does not apologize or console. What must be done is done. “Prepare them. I will do what I can to mitigate, but worlds will be shaken and yours among them. The threads were so tightly and carefully woven...” She growls and those not the Abbess step back. 

Eyes still pale with power, the Divinity turns and perceives Willow, Tara and the now known Cordelia. The two companions who arrived with her are still in the air, but now the power spikes between them and the seer as that which was in the brunette recognizes her own. 

Miranda stalks forward and gazes down. She is angrier than she has been in a very, very long time. “This changes everything.” She understands now what she had been waiting for, why she hesitated. She reaches and gently touches the prone woman’s forehead with her fingertips, intending to wake her. Instead, she is cast into vision. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Elsewhere and when, on a plane revolving more slowly and deliberately, the twins are out with their father, who has treated them to a dinner and a movie. They hold their Dad’s hand, one to each side. Cassidy is chattering about the movie, especially the hero. Caroline drops in observant little gems, exploring meaning as well as what was pretty. Their Dad listens as they walk back to the car, just enjoying the time with his daughters. 

By all technicalities, they have done everything right. Their father parked in a well lit spot. They did not have far to walk. They are surrounded by other pedestrians and are observant of them. 

The screams of shock and horror behind them are what tell them that movie night has changed. They turn and look, stopping despite themselves.

In the not too far distance, a hole in the ground seems to have opened. An orange light streams out of it, contrasting with midnight blue shadows, and heat waves make the light jump. Figures are rising from the hole, dark and tall and menacing and only familiar in shape; not in essence. 

“Shit,” their father says, not contributing to the screams, but aware that this is bad; very bad. He doesn’t stick around to see more, but swivels, picking up the girls, one to each arm. He runs with them, their feet don’t even touch the ground and they are moving so fast. They had no idea their father could run with such speed.

Caroline twists a little in his arms, not necessarily wanting to see, but feeling compelled. Cassidy looks back briefly and flinches, and then determinedly faces forward and she learns a new thing. Their father not only can run fast, he can leap very high. They don’t take a normal path to the car, he jumps over the ones in the way. He says, urgently, “Cassidy, Keys. Jacket Pocket.”

She manages to find them with one try, which, surprises her, given horror movies. 

Caroline says, “Five. And they’re coming this way. Faster, Dad.”

Jeremy correctly interprets it to mean that those five are moving very quickly. He arrives at the car, does not let go of the girls. Cassidy presses a button and the locks disengage. He thanks every divinity he knows, especially one, for modern keys. 

He doesn’t exactly throw the girls into the car, but he also doesn’t hesitate to push them in. They will situate themselves. He’s on the other side, slams the door shut and Caroline locks them. Cassidy tosses the keys to him and he plugs it into the starter, the motor turns. Habit locks in and he looks back to see if there is a pedestrian or car behind him.

The pedestrian wears horns, is red and has a lot of teeth. 

Jeremy floors it and slams into the creature, who flies back with the impact. Then he turns the wheel and they’re rushing forward, at speed, in a crowded parking lot.

If he had thoughts that whatever this was about was not about him or the girls, his thoughts are quickly changed. He glances out the rear view mirror and where Caroline counted five, he thinks he sees maybe ten or twelve and they’re all chasing after their car. Not anyone else’s.

“Oh. Damn.”

No one says anything about the swearing.

\-----TDWP & BTVS----- 

The car is fast, after all, he only buys the best, but the creatures are equally and shockingly speedy. They are careless of what is around them. Other vehicles skid and slide around the creatures, into them. Jeremy is driving as if he is running both a maze and the Indy 500. His girls have had time to strap in. He hasn’t. Nor can he take his hands off the wheel to allow them to strap him in. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells them. “I’ll be fine.” 

He wants to drive home, where he has a hidden bunker, but he also doesn’t want to chance being followed. If they don’t already know where he lives, he doesn’t intend to give them that information. He heads towards a highway, sparing a single thought of remorse for the innocent casualties, but knows that, on the larger thoroughfare, he can really make use of the horsepower that he’d paid for. He takes an exit, any exit, going far too fast, but he does not dare stop. The honking of distressed and angry motorist rise behind him, and then they hear the crashes, far too distant to have been caused by them.

“Girls, I need one of you to make a call to your mom and hand me the phone.”

They don’t even have to flip a coin. Caroline pulls her phone, dials, presses the speakerphone option and hands it to Cassidy, who holds it steady near their dad’s ear, despite the frantic weaving through traffic.

It rings and rings and that’s just something that number never does; except in meetings with Irv, major fashion shows and very important meetings. Their mom is the type to let them know when to call and when not to, as she keeps few secrets from them, just the ones adults share and the ones that would change their perception of reality forever. 

“Miranda, if you get this, when you get this, I need you to call back. We need you.”

Those are the kinds of words said in a tone that will stand Miranda’s hair up, he knows, but they are literally true. 

“Okay, Cassidy, hang up. We’re going for a ride now, sweethearts. We’re going to go faster and as far as we can. Okay?”

Ahead of them, lightning strikes viciously to the ground. A huge droplet of rain smacks onto the windshield. He groans, but doesn’t add more money to the swear jar this time. Rain isn’t a swearable offense and who knows, it may be just as inconvenient for those things chasing them.

More fat droplets of water start pattering the car, and it starts going faster and faster. They zoom past other vehicles. He would pray for a police officer, except, this time it would probably only get them killed. “If you can hear me, we need some serious divine intervention.”

The girls look at each other. They weren’t raised in a religious household. The word God was rarely used, except in terms of explaining other people’s ideas. They still recognize prayer when they hear one. It sounds like a good one to them. “Amen!” They say, in tandem and in total agreement.

As the rain begins to fall heavy and hard, it makes a darkening sky even darker and the highway’s illumination, lit up by seemingly random extension lights and not random at all vehicles, is refracted and split. All that means, ultimately, is that it’s hard to drive in the rain going very, very fast. 

Jeremy manages it with skill, if not aplomb. He’s sweating, but it’s not for him. 

Then there is a heavy sound. The car lifts and drops like a bucking Bronco. It’s enough to set the spin of the wheels just off. The girls scream as the car swerves and whirls around, spinning like an angry top. The sound of metal grinding and crumpling above them makes them look up. They see hand prints, very large and with a point at the top which says to them, claws. 

Jeremy fights for control, manages to drag it out of the spin, but by that time they are off the road and sliding through rough foliage and random fences. He wishes now, as the car spins a final time and he sees a large tree seeming to rush toward them, that he’d had Cassidy take the back seat with Caroline. “To hell with wishes,” he says and calling on something within, he moves faster than he has in a long time. He quits guiding the car and depresses buttons, released Cassidy’s seatbealt as her seat flattens, “Get back there, Cassidy. Both of you, squeeze onto the floor behind behind seats. Do it! Now!”

The car crashes hard and the windshield shatters, allowing a thick tree limb through. It plunges through his side like a giant spear, exactly where Cassidy would have been if he hadn’t moved her. He looks down into Caroline’s teary face and says, “I’m so sorry girls. I love you.”

Then, with a will, he wasn’t sure he still owned, he moves, breaking the limb. He clutches his wound, stemming the bloodflow as much as he can, even as orders,“Don’t get out of the car unless you smell gas or smoke.” He hurts so damn much, and it makes his voice shake. But he pushes back, and up and out that broken window, twisting, so its his body, and that limb, between them and whatever is out there. 

A big, clawed hand reaches down and grabs him by his shirt, lifting him up. “Help,” Caroline whispers and is joined by Cassidy, they crowd into each other. “Help. Help!” They see his legs kicking, can her the sound of struggle and then a sickening biological snapping noise among sounds of metal pieces falling and the car groaning. Their Dad’s legs stop moving and then even the sight of those disappear, to be replaced by a searching hand. 

Caroline and Cassidy are, were, on the cusp of change. The sort of change that starts with waking up different or a major push. They don’t know what they are, what they will be, but something is started in them at that moment, a spark. The spark lights and they find themselves thinking of two other people they have relied on, two people they could trust.

Cassidy and Caroline look at each other, as if realizing at the same moment. Cassidy dials. The phone rings and it seems like it picks up. “Andy! Andy help! Andy we’re in trouble. Helpl! Mom’s not home and we need you!” She has no idea her cry for help is a scream of terror and not much else. It sounds like words to her. She doesn’t hang up. “A big terrible thing is after us. Dad is hurt. He’s … We’re in a car somewhere. Help!”

There’s no answer, but they don’t wait for one either. Cassidy grabs the ice scraper from the back seat pocket. Caroline glances around and sees the latch that flattens the seat to make room for baggage. She lunges for the latch, and a face, too big to get through the broken window peers at them and snarls. The hand reaches, but it can’t get that far. Then they hear more rending of metal and realize it is going to tear the roof off.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	16. Chapter 16

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 16

In Sunnydale, California, two women float above the ground, caught up in a vision. And then, they hear a child scream Andy’s name and with that scream is an invocation of an ancient, ancient right. The right of a Child of the Divine to call upon the sire in dire circumstances. 

Andy’s body arcs and bends, like she is being pulled. Buffy awakens, still part of the vision, but now it as if it’s behind her eyelids and she can see all, just as Andy is flexed vertical again. Light swirls around them. Sensing something profound, the Slayer reaches and grabs Andy’s hand, which flexes around hers, grasps back. The woman transforms before her eyes, light and armor swirl into place, the wings, so long only forms of energy take on a brilliant appearance of light and solidity. 

Above them, the sky opens and rain pours down, only on them. Andy’s wings flex out as she looks up. 

“Not without me!” Buffy demands, and Andy yanks her toward her and wraps her free arm around her. She leaps and they disappear, just as Giles’ car pulls up.

Two people get out of the car and stare at a space that is still filled with rain and still brightening the night.

Anya, who accompanied the older man says, “I told you she wasn’t a Slayer.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

They are a light in the sky, falling fast, like a meteor. The rain pelts them like stones, the sky shivers as lightening strikes around them. Andy is unmoved, zeroing into the sound and the sense of the girls with a preternatural speed. She holds Buffy tight and the slayer’s legs are wrapped around her waist. Andy flaps her wings and it’s not so much that they fly, so much as one moment they are one place, the next, they are a different place and much closer to the girls.

It is then that they see the carnage. Jeremy lies crumpled and forgotten where he was thrown. Creatures that range between seven and eight feet tall have surrounded the car and are pushing and tearing at it. One sits at the top and has slowly been peeling it off, stalled only because it appears to be trying to do three things at once; pull the car open, keep its footing, and try to reach into the vehicle at random moments.

Andy instinctively wraps her wings around Buffy as a roar of rage escapes Andy. It is not a human sound, nor is it guttural or animal. The roar is a profound utterance, a noise like thunder and trumpets. It is the kind of sound that causes everything within the radius of her voice to shock to a stop, stunned. 

They land, Andy’s feet to the ground, unfurling her wings and arms from around Buffy, who hops off. Her wings fade mostly from view, becoming more of an outline of power again, and Andy’s swords spring into the brunette’s hands. She says, “Wait,” before Buffy can start charging into the fray and then hands one to her, handle first. 

Light wraps around both their arms at the contact, flowing up and into Buffy and around the blade.

“I will make for thee armor fit for a queen,” Andy says. She shrugs, “For next time.”

Buffy just grins and hefts the weapon. “Who needs armor? I like my flexibility.” Then she bounds away, towards creatures that are finally shaking off their stupor and turning in their direction; all except one.

Andy shakes her head, first in amusement because she can make armor that would allow Buffy plenty of flexibility and then to clear it from the sudden rush of memories that want to come crashing in at just that moment. She has to push them back, because now is not the time. The girls cry out again and it helps, because it redirects her attention and this time when she looks at the creatures, she knows what they are. “Ahzes,” she growls, already hating what she is seeing.

She rushes the smaller, wingless relatives of creatures that are much taller and bigger. She’s suddenly grateful for small favors. She bends down and grabs a bit of dirt, incanting as she goes. They are very fast and she needs to slow them down. 

Buffy is in the grind, using her smaller size, agility and unexpected speed to stymie the combatants. The sword in her hand inflicts bleeding cuts through stone-hard skin. The afflicted Ahzes hurl epithets, most involving what they intend to do with her entrails.

“Yeah. Yeah. Heard it Before,” Buffy responds, as she carves into the monsters. Her expression is grim and focused, her teeth bared ferociously. Each strike she makes is a reminder that she is a monster’s worst nightmare, even if she hasn’t found the heart of them yet. They squeal and roar their pain as she says, “They all say that. Yet look. I’m still here.”

“Incoming!” Andy’s warning is enough, combined with that sense of each other that they have, to cause the blonde to leap back, using one of the Ahzes as a vaulting point. 

As soon as Buffy is clear, Andy flings the dirt at the creatures’ feet. Stone vines crawl up their feet around their ankles, legs and hips. She keeps moving, heading toward the creature that is still deconstructing the car. Behind her she hears Buffy say, “Oh. That has to be inconvenient. One might even call it an unfair advantage. Too bad for you!” 

“Don’t taunt the Ahzes, Buffy! Kill them while you can!” Andy shouts. She doesn’t have time to explain that these creatures can summon others of their ilk, because by that time she’s up and tackling the one on the car. Its hands still hold the roof and the car is finally torn because of the impact. 

They tumble to the ground and away from the car by several yards, skidding in mud and grass. The Ahzes’ eyes widen as a gauntleted fist slams with power against its temple. Stone cracks, but does not break. Before Andy can get in a second strike, the Ahze, using the curled mass of the car’s rooftop, clobbers her in return and she flies back to the broken car. 

She lands against a door, window up. She takes a chance to look down and sees the two girls, both uncurling from where they were.

“No. Stay there.”

“Andy?”

How they can possibly recognize her with her face shielded by helmet, eye-guard and cheek-guards, she has no idea. “No time to talk. Stay in the car.”

She snags a piece of shattered glass from the other window and steps away, even though she really doesn’t want to. Instinct demands that she stay near the children, but to protect them best, she must invoke a temporary shield, one that will hold just long enough. She mutters several words and throws the remnants of glass in the air and steps even further back. A bubble forms over and around the car, not necessarily impervious, nor long lasting, but one that should last the length of the …

She hears a wailing cry of rage, high pitched and angry, before she’s slammed to the ground. The sword skitters out of her hand and disappears. She huffs out, breathlessly, “Oh good. I’ve disappointed you!”

“I thought you said not to taunt them!” Buffy shouts. She has discovered that Ahzes are not so easy to kill. The sword can cut them, but it can not break them. It can, however, stab. Still, she is covered in their blood, their ick and it makes her slightly grouchy, which makes her even meaner toward them. She’s stabs at them viciously, payback for the grisly experience. Inside, she glories in the fight. She hides from it by mocking the bad guys and ranting about her clothes. She’s been randomly stabbing, trying to find the one central location; only they won’t stay still for it. Not that she blames them. “Say, do these things have hearts?”

“No! Eyes, Ears, Nostrils, Mouth, Anus. Stab up through the mouth or eyes to get to the brain.” She pushes the Azhe up and off.

Buffy considers that its very handy having someone with her in the field who knows things. This is how it used to be with her and Giles. She misses his company on the hunt. But for some reason, which she has never quite understood, he’s distanced himself, stopped really being her watcher. It’s another reason she sometimes fights angry, even though she really shouldn’t. “I get the point. Wait! They have Anuses?” She asks this, even as she jabs one Ahze in the mouth. The blade cuts through its face and up. She jerks the weapon back, doesn’t stay to see the creature die before she moves to the next one.

“Under that short, stubby little tail, they do.”

The Azhe, which has been attacking Andy, rants, “You shall die! I shall rend you ..”

Andy can’t help the next words that come out of her mouth. She learned how to make those final verbal blows while at Runway. “It was the tail comment, wasn’t it. You all are always so sensitive about that.”

It loses its ability to offer more comment in favor of another inarticulate wail of anger. A massive fist swings out. It’s met by sucking mud, as Andy rolls away and leaps up. The sword returns to her palm as she turns and strikes, sliding sword through its neck. It’s not a killing blow, but it is inconvenient and it cuts the next round of primal cry into a gurgle. 

She drags the sword up, out, and raises it overhand in a classic pose. The Ahze turns with her, charges and is met, sword to eye, all the way to the hilt. The point of the sword sticks far, far out of its head, before being sluiced back. Andy kicks the creature away, foot to chest. “No. You can’t have our girls. Permission denied.”

She has no idea where that came from, but it sounds right.

She doesn’t stay to see it complete its dying. Its means of calling is gone and she has to go help Buffy, who has done an admirable job of whittling away their opponents before the spell breaks. Twelve had become five, but the trap is in crumbles. She leaps into the fray. Then it is they two against the rest of the now very distracted Ahzes.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

By the time the carnage is over and Buffy has struck down the last of the creatures, the shield is flickering and the heavy rain has washed away a substantial amount of the gore. Andy calls the cleanse before the body hits the ground and all the creature remains are suddenly dispersed and gone. 

The swords in their hands disappear at the same time. 

Andy finds Jeremy. Her hand presses to her mouth, cool metal to hold back the sound of shock and grief. She knew him, if only by incidental moments of contact. She kneels beside him and realizes that Miranda will want to know, want to see. She pulls a thread from his shirt, then chants a spell. The thread grows. He is lifted and the thread wraps and wraps and wraps around him, turning gold and light, until he is covered head to toe. 

She touches the body, now preserved, and whispers another arcane phrase, one that puts him between time and space, in constant nearness to her, but where she can call him back at any time. The body disappears.

She stands and looks up, letting the rain wash away the tears. She goes to stand by Buffy, who is looking out, guarding. 

“Time to get the girls.”

Buffy nods. “I don’t see anything else out there.”

“I think we got them all, but if not, they’ll be more cautious now.”

She cocks her head and then glances meaningfully at Andy. “Sirens.”

Andy nods. She turns to the shield, which is almost gone anyway and says another phrase. It drops and disappears. 

Then she is back at the car. She reaches around the front and depresses the unlock option. She then opens the door in the back. It tilts oddly on the hinge, a broken thing among broken things. She holds her arms out. “Time to go now.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

If Andy feels a bit like a flying pack-mule, she does not comment. She’s too busy concentrating, as there are degrees of difficulty. The wide expanse of comfortingly solid and beautiful wings thrusts them up and up, and she keeps a tight hold to the girls, while Buffy keeps a tight hold to her. She has told them not to look down, but she is fairly sure that Cassidy hasn’t closed her eyes once they’ve started and Caroline has peeked at least twice. Buffy’s attention is on her, and the slayer whispers an encouragement, “I’ve got you.”

It’s so incongruous and yet, completely comforting. It lends strength to Andy’s flight. They rise and rise. And the portal, which she is maybe a little surprised to see is still there, remains open. It is a dry space in a weeping world. 

It’s like falling, on the other side. They are so close to the ground, she has to slow their flight and it takes all she has.

The portal closes immediately behind them. She doesn’t know how it opened in the first place, but accepts that it’s a case of what needed doing is done. 

They land in her yard, approximately where they were before. She sets the twins down very gently,they slide down her side, but don’t let go, can’t let go. Buffy squeezes her once and then drops down to the ground, feet first. She uncrouches and as she does, she greets the two people who, apparently, have just been waiting to see if they’ll come back.

“Giles. Anya. Hi. Not to be all unwelcoming, but things were kind of rough. I got scrapes and bruises and such. Why are you here?”

“We’ve come to warn you,” Giles says.

Anya thinks that misses the point. She says, “Some knights trashed the shop. They want the Key and I think they don’t like you much.”

Buffy’s eyes widen, “Dawn!”

Behind them, stepping out to see what that bright light was, a young woman says, “What? What’d I do now?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The slayer recovers quickly, realizing that anyone could have been watching. But if they were someone of interest, they would know she was the slayer with vaunted abilities of knowing where someone, even hidden, was at. She uses that and whips around, “I believe one of us was supposed to stay in the house.”

“I was technically still in the doorway ...”

“Dawn,” Buffy’s voice drops a level, “Go inside. We’ll talk about technicalities later.”

“Man. You never let me do anything. You’re worse than mom!” The girl flounces away, even though just moments before she’d been having the time of her life with the game; inside the house, where Buffy said that she could go whenever Andy said it was okay. Perspective isn’t always easy at her age.

Buffy’s expression is stricken for a few seconds, then it hardens. She turns to Giles and Anya. “When you say knights, what do you mean?”

Anya rolls her eyes, “Guys in armor. Not as good as hers mind you,” and she points to Andy and is actually smiling at her somewhat proudly. “And they sure don’t have wings. But they were shiny and had swords and staves.” She shrugs, “And they were kind of cute in a, ‘I practice martial arts all the time,’ kind of way. Oh, and they make the standard promises and threats. If you don’t hand over the Key, they’ll make things difficult, go around killing and breaking your stuff and your friends. You know. The usual.”

Buffy puts a hand to her head, “Why is this my life?” She then drops her hand and shakes it off. “You know what, I got other things to deal with now, so... Yeah. They’re gonna have to wait in line.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda yanks her fingertips away from the still unconscious seer’s forehead, her expression cold and terrible. The storm, which had been easing, redoubles. The wind whips and gales with fury. Even still, she takes a moment to caress the young woman’s cheek softly, before withdrawing her touch completely. 

Willow reaches down where Miranda had touched, laying the flat of her palm against Cordelia’s forehead. Her expression is grave. “This was no mere prophesy. This happened.” She turned to Miranda. 

Tara says, “She’s in no condition to travel and will not wake up easy.” They all know the cost of the visions, if only peripherally. “I will stay here with Cordelia...”

“We will stay here,” Willow says firmly, as she removes her hand from Cordelia’s forehead. “...until she wakes. Then we can go back to the grove...”

“The grove...,” Miranda starts and stops. Then she says. “It does not normally serve as a passageway, my Willow, but I will open the gates for you.” The thought encompasses all three of her companions. “It will take you longer to travel that way than with my guidance. I could bring you directly here, but if you stay and travel alone, which I will allow, you will find yourself on many worlds and possibly need to stop to rest or some other thing. And I should warn you, not all worlds are mine or on the plane you are most familiar with, and not all worlds where I have influence move at the same time rate. All I can promise is that the groves are always protected. But those who may be near the grove may not recognize you as mine. I can not promise safety should you venture away from my sacred spaces. I will, however, arrange it so whatever path you take, you will arrive within reason, on time.”

“Oh, I think we can handle that part. And if not, well, we’re resourceful.” Willow’s smile is tight, but there. “And so long as we have you and our other loved ones are on the other side when we arrive, we will take what we can get. If it gets us closer to you, then so be it.”

“It was prophesied,” offers the Abbess. She nods toward Cordelia. “She knew. Or at least, she spoke of it.” She takes a deep breath. “I will make sure that a select few travel with them, if you will permit it.” She does not mention, that if those on the other worlds do not know the truth, they soon would. She would see to it. She has witnessed too much now. One can not have the goddess incarnate and manifest in the same room and disbelieve.

Miranda nods, suspecting that a select few might be a goodly number. At this point, having watched her ex-husband be brutalized and her daughters terrorized, however, she wants all her family protected. She will allow it. More she will facilitate it. “I will trust you to make a good selection. Only those you trust. Those not allowed, shall find no passage.” Then she takes off her necklace and breaks the strand so the pearls fall into her hand. Holding the round objects in her palms, she charges the items. Then she hands some to Willow and to Tara. “Keep these. As long as you have at least one on you, I will always know where you are. Then, if needed, I will find you. Give some to our seer.”

The two women kiss her softly, one after the other, and it fills something within. It’s not mere reassurance. It’s promise and understanding and so many other things wrapped up into a simple act. 

She whispers into their ears, “Lest you consider it, do not deny yourselves.”

It’s not a granting of permission, just a caring gesture. Tara says, “Go now. They need you.”

“I wanted...” So much. It wasn’t meant to be this way. But then, that was a given. That was the point of what had been done.

“We know,” Willow says. “We know all about best laid plans. It will happen when it is time. Always does.”

Miranda nods and then her expression, which had softened momentarily, changes again and she leaves. The storm, however, remains to find its natural end. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Caroline glances up at Andy, as Buffy grouses. She whispers, “Your wings. You still have wings, Andy.” She takes a risk and touches the pure white feathers. They are soft and the wings shift as if her rescuer felt her gentle touch. 

Andy threads her fingers softly through Caroline’s bangs, gently ordering them. “I know. I haven’t quite figured out how to make them... hide. Again.”

“Do you have to?” Cassidy asks. Like her sister, she is holding tightly to their celestial being. A wing wraps around the girl, gently shielding and hugging her for a moment. 

Andy crouches until she is eye-height. “The answer is yes, Cassidy. I can’t walk around with my wings visible all the time. It would confuse people.”

“Is our Dad... is he...”

Andy starts to answer then pauses a beat, not quite sure why. “We need to wait until your Mom is here before I can answer that question. But I have him in a special place, where only I can find him and time won’t do him any harm.” 

“Okay.” Caroline says, believing. 

Buffy says, “We should go inside. I need to talk to Dawn and you need to not be outside. Even on the Hellmouth, angel wings will stand out.” Maybe especially on... Buffy adds that awareness to her mental tally of things she worries about, even as she knows Andy can mostly take care of herself.

Andy nods. She looks to Giles and Anya. “Are you coming?”

Anya grimaces. “Not now. I’ve got to clean the shop and call the window guy.” 

Giles merely acknowledges that as truth with a gesture.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

“Well, see. I am indoors. All the way.” Dawn, her arms folded, has been waiting to say her piece and ready to fire it since Buffy sent her back in. She is ready for battle.

“Dawn. This is Caroline and this is Cassidy. They’re Miranda’s daughters and they just had a very difficult experience.” That’s all Andy says. Her voice is not unkind, nor is it cutting. 

But the young woman is redirected instantly from her anger; not just because of what Andy says and how she says it, but because she sees an Angel with a capital A before her and it really registers this time. “Wow.” She steps forward, arms unloosening from their dire fold and eyes wide. “Andy?”

The wings, which had been protectively around the children standing by her, flex out and then back, folding neatly like a cloak. Armored hands rise and lift the helmet up and away, revealing the being’s face and she does indeed look like Andy; because now, having lived this person’s life, she is now mostly her, mostly what she had chosen to become; but it is getting harder and harder for her to tell. “Yes. It’s me. I think.” She looks down at the girls. “Caroline, Cassidy, this is Dawn. Buffy’s sister.” 

After the blonde shuts the door behind them, she comes to stand by Andy’s side. “And this is Buffy.” The name of the young woman holds a wealth of affection. 

“Let’s get you some water and sit down for a bit,” Buffy says with a smile that is surprisingly gentle coming from a woman who very recently slayed. “Andy, you want to try to get a hold of Miranda? Dawn and I can keep the girls company.”

Andy nods and sets the helmet down on the closest flat surface. “I’ll just be out back.” It’s not just that she needs to call Miranda. It’s that she needs the moment, a space of time to absorb what she can, while she can.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy sheds the armor on the way to the porch. It’s not a sexy process, as the armor has weight. It drops and clangs, even as she’s careful. By all rights it should have disappeared or been absorbed back to where it came from, but her mind is too full send it all back just yet. It’s not like her swords, an automatic process. Or rather, now, sword. She is not unaware that the second sword has not returned to its original place. Buffy now shares a quality with her. It’s easily solvable, however. All Buffy would have to do is return it, hand to hand. Andy is not in a hurry for it.

By the time Andy is outdoors she is in a simple shift, banded about by an undergirding of leather-like padding around her torso and leather strips around her hips. Her jeans and t-shirt are long gone, but easily replaced. She stands for a moment, taking a breath to look at the stars and a moon curved into a bow. She exhales, knowing that there is no way a cell phone will reach Miranda where she is now. 

She, however, has skills now; delivered not as a sudden breakthrough of new ability, but rather as part of that flood of memories, of knowing. She can find Miranda if she goes to the grove. 

Maybe.

But first, a task, somewhat daunting. 

It is an act of will to bring control the tide of her memories, to put them into place within herself. She closes her eyes, and wills it, but it’s like trying to stem the ocean; an impossible feat. All she can really do, all she could ever do, is be in it. 

She wades in and steps off the porch and each step takes her deeper and deeper. The lights on the path brighten, as they ought, and she follows them blindly, not really seeing. The part of her that is Andrea, is Andy, clings as that which she was and always is, truly washes over her on her way to the grove.

And she drowns.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	17. Chapter 17

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 17

From one perspective, it is only moments. From another, forever. Miranda stops in the grove of the Abbey of Dreams long enough to set in motion a new thing. The portal which never really was a portal, but rather the perception, the hint of the possibility, that she might ascend or descend at any time, takes on a new mantle and is given a new reality; one specifically tied to her ...mates. She is still uncomfortable with the word, but it’s a truth. She will accommodate and this gate will be for Her Companions.... and their Champions. For they will have champions and Cordelia, she knows, has already drawn forth a small army and a loyal cadre. 

Even then, even then, she reserves her own space, her own means of private arrival. A gate for them, a potential for her. It is as it should be, for the now. 

Then, with the strike of lightning elsewhere and outside the grove, she disappears, traveling at last to the destination that calls her, leaving in her wake the astonished devotees who had lingered in the grove after her first arrival.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

As before, it is an eternity of a moment, and then she is there. Miranda, who carried a storm with her, appears behind the altar; at first as a globe of brilliant light and then, as herself. Lightning shatters overhead, shared by a torn scream of inarticulate pain and fear. 

This time Miranda is present to witness an Angel taut and strung, feet off the ground, head thrown back in the scream, wingtips pressed to wingtips like the back of hands pressed above one’s head. The vision takes her breath away, as in many ways its like a painting, vivid and striking. 

But this is her Andrea. She can not leave her in this state.

Miranda rises until she is of equal distance from the ground, perhaps a little more. One moment she is behind the altar and the next, she is before her ex-assistant; the woman who has driven her to distraction since she laid eyes on her in the executive Runway office. 

Miranda reaches out and cups her palm to Andrea’s cheek. The outcry stops immediately, mid-wail. She has two approaches she can take; that of the dragon lady or that, which she hoped she was, the loved one. “Andrea. Come back now. I need you.” The words are spoken gently, almost cajolingly. 

The Angel’s eyes, which were a storm of light, change; rapidly gradiating from a bright opaque light to a shining amber brown. It takes Miranda’s breath away.

\-----TDWP & BTVS----- 

One moment, Andrea is lost in a maelstrom of too much-ness and the next, she is gazing at a face she finds more precious than her own. “Miranda...” A lifetime of ache fills her voice, for things that need saying and that she dreads saying and for a knowing of a life lived. “I was a slave.” The fist still at Miranda’s side clenches, even as Andy’s expression suddenly changes, strengthens, until her gaze is firm, “But not always.”

Miranda nods, accepting, knowing there is a wealth of history behind those words; some of them between them. She leans forward quickly, as if needing to make a capture before something gets away. 

Their lips finally touch. It’s soft, but not immediately tender; more testing. Miranda brushes her lips against Andrea’s top lip and then the lush bottom one, before leaning in to press and open. It is a jolt, then, singing through them in instant electrical connection. They inhale at the same time, and before Miranda can draw back, Andy wraps an arm around a slim waist and tugs her closer, insistently.

This time, the kiss is demanding and fierce, as if this moment’s connection is more important than air. 

Perhaps it is. 

Rain, which was falling in harsh pelts, gentles against their skin and is forgotten entirely. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Andy, as herself, has imagined this kiss, dreamed of it. It is far, far more than she ever expected. It is exactly as she expected; wonderful. Miranda is a glorious kisser, warm and open and succulent, but not too much so. Her focus centers on the kiss, on the feel of it, on the feel of Miranda in her arms. 

She feels things being set right, feels as if this was how it was meant to be, how it was always supposed to be; as if it were a moment that had been destined. Her wings flex, brighten and then slowly disappear into light. Her body softens against Miranda’s in surrender, finally.

When they pull away, it is slow, serene. Miranda says, “Well,” in that low, soothing way of hers.

“Yeah,” Andy breathes and she is not immune to how directly Miranda is gazing at her, or how centered she feels. She is Andy, entire again. Only... this time, she has memories of another life to call upon. But she is who she is, who she wants to be. 

“Take me to the girls, Andrea,” Miranda says. She gazes into brown eyes which seem to glow with wonderment. All this time, she thinks. All this time. But she can not now think of it as wasted, merely as delayed; even though she knows it was a deliberate thing by others less interested in their welfare. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The twins who are in the dining room, drinking what was set before them, and acting in spooky syncopation, twist in their seats. They turn, looking out through the open entryway to the room. Then, not quite as one, but still in that same eerie in-step way, they stand.

Dawn’s eyes go wide and she takes a quick sip of her soda, then, opts to stand herself, just to see what happens next.

Buffy, who was already standing, back to the wall where she can observe both the kitchen and the hall entryways, watches. Her head cocks and then she pushes away and moves until she is by the girls. “If we go out back, we can meet them.”

She nods a direction and starts walking. It’s only then that the pattern breaks and one of the girls, Cassidy, grasps Buffy’s hand. Caroline follows, just a step behind. They make their way through sliding doors to the back porch. Dawn flips a switch and a warm glow of light illuminates the deck-like space. 

They gather in a light grouping and once they stop, Caroline silently takes Buffy’s other free hand. In the distance, they watch as lights flicker on and then off, sometimes barely seen through the trees, in what seems to be a timed succession. This breaks the silence. “Wow,” Caroline utters. “How big is this back yard?”

Buffy’s smile compresses the laugh. “Bigger than you think,” she says. 

“This house is magic,” Dawn says. “Well, and ours too... Hey, wait a minute, why can I go in our back yard, but not this one?”

“Because,” Buffy says, “We haven’t figured out what’s safe yet. And I didn’t say you couldn’t go out in the back yards. I said you can’t go out of Andy’s front door. Although, I suppose I should have specified, her front yard. I just didn’t want you tempted.”

“Okay. That answers nothing. Why...”

“Because it’s sanctified ground and you’re safe here.” Buffy unconsciously squeezes the twins hands, but not too hard. “You are all safe here.”

“Like our house. Only different.” It is the first hint that Buffy has that the girls are aware that their lives or their mother may be something different, something wondrous. “We don’t have this kind of yard.” A touch of envy colors Cassidy’s response.

Buffy wants to tell them that this is their yard, but she waits, knowing this is something that Miranda needs to explain. The slayer can only do so much. Instead she says, “You are welcome here at any time.”

“Where is here?” Caroline finally asks.

“Andy’s house.”

“That’s not...”

“... what we meant,” Cassidy finishes. 

“I know,” Buffy says. “But it’s all you need to know for right now. And same rules that go for Dawn apply. You can be in the house, mine or Andy’s, and in the back yards, but don’t go in the front yard or too far into the back yard without an adult. You can go to where the forest begins ...” She is fully prepared to get more specific if she needs to.

“You know, Buffy, this whole mysterious thing is...,” Dawn starts and then pauses, when her sister turns to look at her as if she shouldn’t be surprised. It causes her to rethink what she is about to say. “... actually, kind of par for the course. If you really want to know, Caroline, Cassidy, ask me. I’ll tell you. I mean, if I have the answer. Or you know, we can look it up, if I don’t. I can be a veritable font of useful information.”

Before the girls can accept or reject the offer, Buffy says, “It is not that mysterious. I’m just trying to...” 

“...keep everyone safe, yadda yadda. I know. But Buffy, that’s an impossible thing. We can’t always be safe. Sometimes, you know, you gotta trust the universe or... let people try new things or... I don’t know... not hold on so tight.” The tone holds shades of their mother and it causes Buffy to turn and gaze at Dawn. Her expression shades from the point of saying something to a kind of speculation.

“Dawn... it’s...” Buffy once again refrains from telling her younger sister about how very dangerous it is for her right now; about how there is a goddess who would take her life without a care for who she is now and how much, she, Buffy, loves her sister; too much to lose her. She doesn’t have all the words for it. She can score all the thousand points on any number of fancy tests and the words just jumble themselves into unwieldy balls of concept or slang shorthand that stick in her throat, compacted with emotion. She finally settles on, “...complicated.” Then she exhales, “but you’re right. We need to talk about why and then decide, together, what to do.”

Dawn’s jaw drops slightly, and she blinks and shakes her head as if trying to make sure she’s actually seeing her sister. Then she nods and a smile forms, “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Buffy offers her a smile back then, “Okay. That’s what we’ll do then. But I may let Willow do the talking.”

Dawn laughs briefly despite herself. “Okay.” 

Then, suddenly, the twins cry out. “Mom!”

Buffy’s hands are left bereft, as two red-heads rocket away toward two people who have finally emerged from the forested distance.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda meets her children half-way, pulling them to herself until they are held tight to her. She kisses them, reassures them, and herself. “I’m here. I’m here.”

She half expects the tears she knows they are holding back to start, but though they cling to her, they are oddly composed. The explanation is quick. “Andy rescued us.” Cassidy’s soft words hold a touch of awe. 

“She’s an Angel,” Caroline whispers in her ear. “Buffy rescued us too, but Andy can fly. She has Dad.”

Anyone else, any time else, these words might have been taken as symbolic or the active imaginations of the traumatized.

Miranda squeezes her girls gently. “I know,” she whispers back. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Events have clarified certain things for Miranda and as she stands in front of the door with the empty plaque, she looks down at her girls. Then she looks at Andy and Buffy, who both nod. Before she can say what she intends to her daughters, Cassidy speaks. “This will go to our house.”

“Yes. And there will be one in the Summers’ too.”

Caroline says, “Dawn’s Rules apply?”

Miranda knows what her daughter is hinting at, and nods her head firmly. “Yes. I am not quite prepared to have you gallivanting around Sunnydale without a responsible escort.”

Cassidy absorbs this. “Sunnydale.” She tastes the word, as if finding location by the flavor of the name.

“California,” whispers Caroline. “Near Santa Barbara.”

Miranda’s eyebrows rise and she looks at her daughters in surprise. 

Cassidy, however is looking at her sister. “It really is Andy’s place.” She says this with a touch of awe, and yet as if knowing where Andy lives is a very normal occupation of theirs. No one feels up to questioning that at the moment.

Buffy’s expression is tolerant, “I did say.” It’s not that she doesn’t experience a sense of mystery any more, so much as very little actually surprises her. And usually those things that do involve teeth and claws and sneakiness.

Miranda just nods and finally says, “Of course it is.” She reaches for the door handle. “And now, we shall be going home.” As soon as she twists the knob, a new image fades onto the plaque; destination acquired. “We will come back to visit in the morning.”

“Let me go through first,” Buffy says, before anyone can step through any door. 

“I assure you, it is safe.” Miranda’s tone is firm.

Buffy considers arguing, but knows that Miranda is rarely questioned and certainly not in front of her children. She steps back. “Call us if you need us.”

“Buffy,” Miranda says, with a mix of humor and asperity, “You are welcome to just come when you so desire. And you may trust that we shall do so also. However, the girls will sleep better at their house, in their beds...” Or with her tonight. She will gage their moods in the privacy of their home. But she respects her girls enough not to mention that out loud.

Buffy raises her hands in surrender, recognizing that Miranda is doing something unusual even here; letting them into her world. “It’s good. It’s all good. I love you.” The words slip out, a higher truth. “We love you,” she continues. “Just...”

She jolts forward and presses her lips against Miranda’s cheek. “See you soon.” 

“Yes,” Miranda responds, after the much too brief contact and very aware of the sensitivity Buffy has shown for herself and her daughters. “Absolutely.” She does intend to speak to her daughters and to return, after all, and not just because there is unfinished business. 

Then, gathering her children, like a hen gathers chicks, Miranda takes them and herself home.

Buffy turns to Andy and says, “Sometimes, when I talk to her, even though she is who she is to us, I feel as if I’m four and nervous around adults again.”

“Tell me about it,” Andy says as she wraps her arm around Buffy’s shoulder. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The townhouse is quiet and somber. The girls, though it is very late for them, have not given in to sleep yet. They are, however, snugged tight against their mother, who holds them both literally and in her heart. They don’t want to talk and she is not forcing the issue. She knows her daughters as she knows herself. So she listens unobtrusively to what is not said. Her daughters, she knows, have always been slightly telepathic, on a mostly subconscious level, with each other. She rarely invades, and it’s not so much that she overhears now, so much as it is like putting one’s fingertips to a pulse and feeling the rhythm. 

She senses their unspoken grief and the tiredness that is rapidly catching up with them, their resistance to sleep and their relief that she is with them. She also senses a much stronger, feeling for Andrea than she ever realized they possessed. 

She mentally reviews what was seen through Cordelia’s vision and how it compares to what she gathers from her daughter’s silent impulses.

And it leads inevitably to the question, how did they manage to pull Andrea to themselves? 

In her minds eye she sees the young woman’s transformation, complete and powerful and very abrupt. It was as if their call, inarticulate verbally and thrown out in a near hopeless cast, had been utterly, silently irresistible. She glances down at her daughters, taking in beloved features and is filled with a tender awe.

She says with a gentleness that those who work for her at Runway could never conceive to be hers, but then, only a very few count as friends, let alone family. “Rest now. Rest now. Mom will take care of it.”

That’s all she has to say and their eyes finally close, the ever running wave quiets, and they finally sleep.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Cordelia hates waking up after a sleeping vision. In her life, the visions bring pain, but the experience while awake is nothing like what happens when she’s been asleep and dreams. She crawls wakefully into a scream, trying to curl into herself protectively, but the natural motion is blocked by gentle hands. She is turned, resisting, onto her back. 

Then, as she inhales for another throat-ripping cry, hands are laid upon her forehead and words are whispered. Light fills her eyes, but not hurtfully. Outside she hears the crack of thunder, but is far away and muffled. The shout of pain remains unuttered and she sags back, suddenly loose against the gentle restraints. 

To be honest, the access to almost instant pain relief is something she adores about this world.

A cloth is laid over her eyes, respectful of the shadow and echo that remains. It will be a few minutes before she is completely right and ready to view the world. The hands that held her down let go. She whispers, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

It takes will power to lift her hand and grab the cloth across her eyes, but she manages it. She hears, “Oh. Should have anticipated that. Get the lights. It’ll be too bright yet.”

Okay, that voice she knows and it’s awfully close. Cordelia forces her eyelids to open, because she has to see and she has to know now and as she does so, she tries to struggle up. 

“Hold your horses. We’re not going anywhere.” A hand gently presses her back, and by then a familiar face is gloriously in view.

A friendly smile, long and wide crosses the red-head’s face and, in an oddly intimate gesture, places her palm on the prone woman’s face. “Hiya Cordelia. Looks like we got here just in time.” 

Despite the original prompt, Cordelia rolls up. Her long arms wrap around the other woman in a powerful hug. “Willow!” Then she pushes the redhead back a bit. “Wait a minute. What are you doing here?” Her question is sharp, nearly cold, though her expression isn’t at all. 

“We were called,” someone answers and Cordelia feels a shift in her soul as she realizes a rightness. She turns and looks at the blonde on the other side of the bed. “Miranda brought us, but there are things going on at home she had to go back and deal with. We stayed here, to be with you.”

“Oh, and go on that trip you predicted,” Willow interjects.

Cordelia doesn’t really have to ask who and she’s spared an awkwardness, by the other woman’s sudden forwardness. Two hands grab her face and then she is kissed, softly, but surely. Green eyes twinkle in amusement at her surprise. “I’m Tara. It is very good to meet you.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Cordelia reclines, while Tara sits on one side of the small table and Willow on the other. They are breaking fast together; her more-so than they. She picks at her food, not quite hungry yet, but knowing she needs the sustenance after such a long and sustained prophecy. 

As they speak to one another, she turns to gaze at each one, absorbing every detail, from how Willow’s hair frames her face, to the delicate, yet strong hands of Tara. The lanky brunette can barely believe that they are here. Their presence is a miracle, literally. She is secretly amused by how carefully people she has now known for years and who have accompanied her on those dangerous quests are tip-toeing and snatching glances.

Willow comments, “Only you would gather a coterie while on an alien planet. Everyone else I know, Buffy for instance, would end up scrabbling with maybe one or two friends to fight whole armies, but you...” She waves to the small group of people who surround them in the more public space of Cordelia’ suite; the guards, a new scribe, a few young people who delivered the food and a young man who looks a little old to be a page, but obviously takes whatever may be his duty seriously.

Cordelia assumes a haughty demeanor, though there is a smile in her eyes. “People know quality when they see it.”

Willow throws an amused glance at Tara and says, “It’s that royal thing you have. Too bad someone stole your crown, Queen C.”

The sound of something clattering to the floor startles the three women. Willow and Tara are up and out of their seats in an instant, hands lifted defensively, while Cordelia still seated, simply turns.

Her gaze falls on the page. “Kyle. Are you okay?”

His eyes are wide and slightly shocked. “You’re a Queen?”

Cordelia considers her answer, because the technical truth is, yes. Yes she is or was going to be one on a planet, even though that was kind of faked for the convenience of the priests and on another, well, that was a dream gone sour. She opts for a different kind of truth. “Not today and not here, Kyle. No need to get stirred up. I’m just me.” 

She turns to see Willow gazing at her with surprised speculation. There is so much history between them; a early childhood lifetime of school, an ancient club of hate, men, women, and days and years of scorn and mockery; and, of course, sheer attitude. Yet, Cordelia had been on the road to change, had traveled a long way from he young woman who strode the hallways of their youth with such pride and arrogance. Willow does not replay their history. They both know it. Instead, she reaches out and grasps Cordelia’s hand, which causes an unexpected, but somehow deeply comforting tingle to rush from the palm to the soles of their feet and tops of their heads. Finally, the pieces of who they were meant to be are finally in place, together. “You’ll always be royalty to me.”

Cordelia’s smile could light a thousand suns.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----


	18. Chapter 18

TDWP: On a Wing and a Prayer pt. 18

Miranda wakes up early, both out of habit and out of emotional urgency. Her daughters remain clasped tightly by Morpheus and she gazes with gentle affection and worry at them. In a little bit she will wake them, but not just yet. Some things, however, need handling.

She long ago mastered moving out of bed without disturbing others. It helps that she is what she is. She exits the bedroom with quiet purpose.

She patrols her property and knows without having to examine things too hard, that something did press at it and was rebuffed while she was away. It was a test of her defenses more than anything, but she sees the traps that lay in wait.

If she were less irate, she’d play the game, but she has no interest in coddling the “bad guys,” and less of a need to follow their trail. They will have to do better. The traps and spies are dismantled and removed and a new layer of protection set in place and just to make it more difficult, made a touch nastier.

A grim smile of contemplation briefly slides across her face and then she leaves that task to pursue something much more mundane; breakfast. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The odor of good food lures her daughters from their slumber. They find her in the kitchen, a sight that is not as rare as people might think. Their places are already set and the meal laid out. She kisses them both on the forehead, accepts their mumbled, still sleepy responses. They tuck in, and she watches them quietly. When it seems they are more awake and less hungry, she speaks.

“I’ve already called school and you are excused for the day. We will be going to Andrea’s when you’re ready.” 

As she says this, she sees them flash a glance at the kitchen clock. It’s eleven am. They have already missed several classes. However, even without the “help” of the assistants, homework is easy for them. They’ll catch up. Caroline asks, “Are you going to get Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to fix him?” Cassidy asks, braving the truth.

Miranda does not hurry to answer, because she knows this will change many things about her relationship with her daughters, but finally says, “If I am able.”

Both of her girls look at her with near impassive gazes, then Caroline cracks. “Okay.”

They save the discussion of “how” for another day. It relieves Miranda, however, that they so easily accept what she says in the matter; that they believe.

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Miranda gives the girls the option of deciding if they will go with her. They choose to, each linking their hand to one of hers. They enter Andy’s house, which is still alight. Miranda’s sense of where the writer is, leads them into the front room.

The brunette is sitting on the edge of the couch, forearms on her thighs, eyes staring out, not quite seeing anything. Glancing about the room, Miranda realizes that she is not the only one who did not get sleep. She pauses, but Cassidy breaks the death grip on her hand, to rocket forward. 

“Andy. Mom’s come for Dad.”

The brunette seems to become aware just in time in time to catch Cassidy in a one-armed hug. “Hi you. She has?”

The girl nods solemnly and Andy’s attention turns to Miranda and Caroline. “Hi.”

Caroline moves forward to the brunette’s other side, accepts a sideways hug too. Andy is aware of their trembles, and holds them both tightly for a moment. “Did you get any rest.”

“They slept,” Miranda reassures. 

“Ah. Good. Hungry?”

“We’ve eaten,” says Caroline. 

“Okay,” Andy squeezes them one more time and then, as if she’s feeling the weight of years, she unfurls from the couch. “Caroline, Cassidy, why don’t you head on upstairs to the game room.”

“But...”

“Girls.” Miranda’s tone nips what might become a demand in the bud; not that they wouldn’t argue if they thought they could get away with it or the topic important enough. So, to forestall that she adds, “This is not something for you to see. We will call you when we’re done.”

“What if …” Cassidy’s expression tightens and she won’t finish the thought out loud. 

“Some things have their natural course. You know this.” The girls have had pets, of varying sizes; not just Patricia. They do know death and they know their father was badly, badly hurt. Miranda gentles, because she knows that grief and worry is making her tone harsh, even with them. She did, after all, love him. “We will do what we can, but you can not watch. It’s not for your eyes.”

Caroline grabs her sister’s hand, her expression serious. “Come on.”

Both Andy and Miranda watch as they climb the stairs. Waiting.

Miranda turns on Andy. “You were supposed to rest.”

Andy shrugs. “I meant to. Buffy and Dawn needed to talk and I...” 

She had needed space, to herself, for a few hours. All the simple beliefs she’s had about herself have been shredded and it’s testing her ability to cope. Her smile is more lopsided than normal when she offers it. 

“Do you... want to talk about it?” It’s a rare thing that Miranda offers. Some would never believe it had been. 

“Not yet. I don’t know when.”

Miranda nods quietly and silence settles like a cloak around them, before she breaks it. “Well.”

Andy nods. “Yeah. Let’s do this thing.”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

The arcane matter of retrieving Jeremy is actually done within a half a minute. That is not the challenging part. Miranda watches as Andrea, with a gentleness she’s always known the girl to possess, carries the wrapped body to the floor. The younger woman looks up at Miranda, brown eyes softened with concern. 

Miranda looks down at the golden man-shaped cocoon and then she kneels beside it, on the opposite side of Andrea. A warmth emanates from the threads and she looks at the brunette before laying her hand on Jeremy’s cover. “This,” she hesitates and then shares her opinion, “is astonishing work, Andrea.”

The brunette isn’t sure what to say, so she just nods her head softly. She wants to ask what the children asked, but she holds her tongue and chooses instead, to let her hope in Miranda reign true. 

Miranda says, “It is time to release the seal, Andrea.”

“Yes.” Andrea reaches with a fingertip and touches the forehead and the center between the collarbones. 

A glow forms around Miranda’s hand, white against the gold, and the weave of the wrap begins to unfurl from that point, like hundreds of threads being loosed. They fall to the side, rapidly, and Andrea can feel the power vibrating all the way to the soles of her feet and the cap of her head.

Jeremy is revealed, bloody and torn. His head angles to the side. Miranda’s expression hardens against the tears that threaten. Where before her hand touched threads, it now touches him. The glow changes, deepens. She seeks a different kind of thread now, one that ran very strong in him and his caste. 

Two strong, feminine hands, Andrea’s, suddenly rest upon Jeremy. Like Miranda’s they glow, but their purpose is different. Words are spoken. Miranda ignores them, but she sees where the effort is headed. She lays her free hand on one of Andrea’s.

And gasps in near shock as she experiences an amplification. The gaping wide hole literally begins to close, the bones begin to mend. The head begins to re-center correctly upon his neck. 

Miranda’s sight travels far, and she is, herself, willing to follow if necessary. Just to find him. The girls love their daddy so very much, and he has been her friend for so very long.

It is faint, so very light as to be nearly gone and he is so very tired. This, even though he had been preserved out of time, just to give them this spare, tiny chance. She would have much for which to thank Andrea.

Timing is everything. Just as his head snaps back into place, Miranda sees him. She could yank him back, but that’s a very traumatic experience for the nearly dead; and for the actually dead. But he’s not yet made the full transition, and while he might be feeling the call toward the light, she chooses to reach out and hopes he will, out of love for their children, respond.

“Jeremy,” Miranda speaks in her usual tone and despite herself, her usual aspect; there were, after all, reasons for the divorce. “Get back here.” Then she softens. “The girls need you.”

It’s a slow turning, because the choice is difficult; rest or return. 

Jeremy’s first new breath is violent and deep and his body arcs to their healing touch. And then, he settles back, flat on the ground, but his heart beats on its own. He swallows and his eyes begin to blink.

Andrea pulls back, but Miranda keeps hold of her hand, just changing the way they are clasped so their fingers are intertwined; like lovers. So they both stay kneeling, as Jeremy returns to the living. 

“Miranda?” he croaks, and then he smiles. “You came.”

Miranda flashes a glance at Andrea, who shrugs. The details can come later. So she says, “Yes. The girls are fine.”

“Good.” He closes his eyes. “It was bad.”

“I am aware. It will be handled Jeremy. But it may take some doing. I called your wife. She is fine. She believes you are working, but we can retrieve her and offer her, and you, safe haven.”

“Miranda, my place is safe. It’s practically a bunker.”

“Jeremy.”

“Miranda.”

They aren’t quite peeved at each other, but Andy gets the sense of two immovable forces that have had this kind of half-spoken conversation before. 

“I got room,” Andy offers. “The only drawback is the Hellmouth, but ….”

“My place is safe. We just never had a chance to get there.”

“Willful.”

“Independent.”

“Male.”

“Damn straight. You can let me up now.”

“Fine. But the girls stay with me and mine until this is resolved.” 

That’s when Jeremy notices their hands. “You’re making hay with the assistant?”

Miranda smirks, “You married yours. Besides, Andrea hasn’t been my assistant for years. As you well know.”

He cocks a brow and shrugs. Then he looks around. “Where are we?”

\-----TDWP & BTVS-----

Despite herself, Andy feels tears sting her eyes when the girls rush down the stairs, screams of joy erupting, to greet their Dad. Jeremy catches them in a huge bear-hug. It is, as he is closing his eyes in profound relief, the moment Andy realizes that he was scarred and scared by the events of the night before. It’s not until he is in the proximity of his daughters that his body language truly eases.

As he sets them down from that hug, Caroline and Cassidy’s eyes rove all over their dad, looking for the injuries they knew happened. But the outer evidence is gone. “I’m okay girls,” he says, running his hand through Cassidy’s locks. He holds Caroline’s shoulder, not too tightly. “Sorry I scared you.”

Cassidy says what they both know. “We wouldn’t be here without you. I’m so glad...” She breaks then, starts to cry. Jeremy drops to his knees and pulls her in close; Caroline too. 

“It’s okay, baby. Dad’s here.” He glances up at Miranda, whose arms are folded in an effort not to crowd into his time. She watches with an anxiousness that cuts him to the core and he lifts a hand, inviting.

For the first time in the longest time, the girls are held by both of the parents that they grew up with; they’ve always been cherished.

\----- TDWP -----

Jeremy corners Andy before he leaves. He knows she’s been trying to make herself scarce to give him, his ex-wife, and his daughters time. But he has something to say to her. It starts with something that has always come naturally to him. He grasps her in a hug.

It’s so unexpected that Andy at first forgets how to respond and then she wraps her arms around him, holding him back with a gentle strength. If there is more to the hug, a warmth, a feeling of security that wasn’t there until just that moment, he doesn’t mention it. He just accepts. Because he knows one thing, Andy is an angel. He doesn’t know how she did it and he doesn’t know how she managed to wind her way back to Miranda, but he’s grateful that she was there, right on time.

He pulls back, smiling. “Thank you.”

Andy settles on the simple reply she was taught as a child. “You’re welcome.” She doesn’t add the usual, ‘anytime,’ as truthfully, she doesn’t want a repeat experience. It was a hard thing to see him so hurt. Even with her memories of her other life, she is still a little shattered by it. Maybe because Miranda is so important to her. Maybe she never had anyone, aside from her current earthly family, that important to her before. 

But now she has family and her mates and it’s as if more than her whole world has changed.

“Please keep safe,” she manages.

“I will.” He sees Miranda waiting. Now she’s impatient. For some reason it just makes him happy. “Looks like it is time for me to go. I know you’ll take care of my girls.”

She doesn’t even have to confirm it. They both know it’s true. 

\-----TDWP & BTVS -----

It is quickly apparent to anyone with a sense of self-preservation, that Miranda Priestly is on the warpath. She enters Elias-Clarke like a goddess in storm, expression not even a hint of neutral, but grim and dangerous. The word is passed from driver to assistant, who demands with a wail of surprised despair, “But how can she be here? She is supposed to be in California. She never called to make arrangements...”

The driver, not her usual Roy, but a temporary one, who has worked with Miranda before and lived to tell the tale says, “You can not be seriously asking me that.”

“I know. I know.” The first assistant responds in desperate tone as she snaps her fingers at the second and mouths an urgent, “Starbucks now!” Then she cuts her cellphone shut abruptly and scurries to make things ready, as if Miranda Priestly were thoroughly expected. It’s a blur of helter-skelter, but by the time the editor arrives her desk is an island of perfection and the assistant is waiting by the elevator, ready to march down the corridor taking notes at an astonishing pace.

Miranda has several calls made, but the most important one happens about an hour later. She slides it in and no one is the wiser. Not even Nigel, whose voice pleasantly asks, “Well, hello goddess...” He means it as a tease, has no idea he is a natural priest, but she never wanted to scare him. Now however, she might and she hopes she doesn’t lose him after all that effort to mend fences. “... what can I do for you?”

“Nigel, how long has it been since you’ve seen your family?”

He’s silent for a good half minute, until she says, “I’ve apparently broken you.”

“What? No. No. I’m just trying to figure out what you want to know...”

She considers his loyalty, considers the nature of families. It’s one thing to be a friend, and quite another to find out one’s kin may be playing with the strings of fate. And strong family ties can make or break friendships. 

But this is Nigel and she’s known him a long time. “How is your brother? The lawyer.”

He actually hisses. “Miranda,” he says slowly and very carefully. “My brother...” He pauses and then continues. “I know we’ve talked a little about my family and their... connections, but my brother... You don’t need him. Whatever it is, you don’t need him. I know you already have a great set of lawyers. Whatever he can do, they can do and they can do it.... without hurting anyone. Well, unnecessarily. Miranda, do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“You think your brother is dangerous.”

“I know he is. I know he is, Miranda. You and I, we’ve had our days, but I love you. You’re my friend... I’d never sic him on you on your worst day. You get me?”

A part of her which she’d been holding back, can suddenly breathe again. “I do, my friend. I do. But Nigel...”

“No buts, Miranda. I love him as my brother, but he doesn’t get to be in my house. “

“I understand. I won’t ask for his number then, but... do you ever worry that something will happen to him?”

“Oh, I know somethings going to happen to him. It’s not a matter of if...”

“Oh dear. I am...”

“Don’t say it. It’s just facts. Nathan used a different last name for a reason. He still has a little of his soul left and didn’t want his family involved in it.”

“If I asked for that last name.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t, Miranda.”

She could have pressed. She thought about it, but she does not really need his name. She already knows it. Nathan Reed. She even knows where he nominally works, though she wonders if his employers know what sort of game he’s been playing. She has what she needed, the assurance that, whatever might be happening was not something Nigel had participated in. “Alright,” she says soothingly. “I... didn’t mean to distress you.”

“It’s okay,” Nigel says, “But if you really want, you can make it up to me.”

“What have you been eyeing lately?”

“I thought you’d never ask....”

\-----TDWP & BTVS -----

It’s too much to ask, when it comes to the Hellmouth, that things stay settled. More to the point, Buffy is not the sort to wait around for some guys in armor to ambush her. Andy won’t let her go alone, but they can’t leave the girls by themselves. 

Anya, for the right sum, and Xander, for the right to try out the new game system guilt free and with willing competitors, gladly embrace the opportunity to spend time with Dawn, Caroline and Cassidy. An extracted promise on both sides, one for staying put and just having a good time and the other a delivery of something scrumptious, leaves them all feeling as if they’ve won the better deal. The Angel and the Slayer reluctantly part with the younger girls and their friends, but this is a task that really should not be put off.

An hour later, Buffy complains, “How hard can it be to find guys that clink when they walk?”

“They’re around,” Andy says, sure of it. “They want to catch you alone. I’m an innocent bystander or some such.”

“Ah. That’s right. They don’t know you.”

Andy flashes a grin, “Well, a little less than you do. You realize it hasn’t exactly been that long since...”

“Shut up,” Buffy reaches over and grasps Andy’s forearm. The contact sizzles up their spines. A vision flashes for both of them of three women entwined, a blonde, a brunette, a redhead. 

“Oh!” Andy says, clamping down sharply on a sense of immediate need. “They’ve...”

“They were going to,” Buffy pants. “Miranda did say. Thought we’d know about it sooner.”

“Different time frames and distance and... maybe, you know, not every time, but the first time.. yeah, I can see it...” She doesn’t finish what she is saying because she’s grabbed Buffy and dragged her into a kiss so mighty that need shocks through both. The nearest secluded wall seems like a good idea.


End file.
